Staying Up Late
by Lacey-Mae Emelia
Summary: Hermione Granger is tricked into taking a potion, seemingly harmless enough at first, but resulting in disastrous consequences. Can her Potions Master help her survive? Can she help him to live again?  originally a one shot .
1. Chapter 1

**Dear all! **

**I originally wrote this story as a one shot, however upon request decided to extent it into a full fanfic. This was one of my first attempts at writing a fanfiction and as such, looking back, I feel that much of the writing can be improved upon. Further, as I'm sure many writers on this site have, at some point I lost interest in the story and decided to start a new one, leaving this one unfinished and incomplete. **

**However, after still receiving reviews and alerts on Staying Up Late, I have decided to go through the original twenty or so chapters, altering the bits that I don't think work and trying to improve on the quality of writing. I then hope to be able to finish it off, although having two other fanfics on the go, I am not sure when, or indeed _if_ this can be done. **

**I massively appreciate everyone's continued support and hope that you will be happy with any changes made. I also encourage new readers to review so that I can improve further. **

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and enjoyed this story thus far! If it were not for you I would have stopped writing after Chapter 1.**

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><p>Staying Up Late<p>

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><p>Punching at the pillows on his bed, Harry tried vainly to plump them into a more comfortable position. Swinging a leg out of the covers then deciding against it and throwing the cover back over himself he groaned in annoyance. He was either too hot or too cold and sleep seemed like a million miles away. Deciding that he was now much too warm he tried to shrug the throw off again but succeeded only in entangling the sheets around his limbs. "Goddamit", he whispered to the dark. With a sigh of exasperation he threw himself back down onto the pillow to stare at the canopy over the bed, his eyes searching over the intricately weaved patterns of the tapestry.<p>

The soft whispers of breath from his sleeping roommates infused the air in the dormitory with a serenity and Harry's own breathing unconsciously synced to its steady rhythm. But there was a greater silence that permeated under the subtle rise and fall that made Harry feel distinctly uncomfortable, a feeling that jarred with the welcoming familiarity of the room and made his heart twist.

The hand on his watch passed by, a pronounced ticking noise which seemed louder that it should really possibly be from a small wrist watch. Still the underlying silence prevailed whilst the black haired boy continued to trace over the gold leaves woven in to the material above him. The practical potions exam the next morning was dawning and Harry knew that if sleep continued to elude him, in the words of Ron, he would "royally cock up" his Living Death potion, but every time he shut his eyes he saw Ginny and Seamus, lips locked, eyes closed, hands entwined underneath the table, and something would stir in his chest: a strange tugging sensation like a fist clenching tightly at his heart.

Harry has always seen Ginny as Ron's younger sister, shy and contained, but something had changed since she had come back from the summer break, although he was not sure whether it was her or his own perception of her. He noticed for the first time how graceful she was as she walked, how her eyes sparkled as she laughed, how her hair shone when it caught the sun. She was truly beautiful.

Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes and tried to hold on to a picture of her in his mind from the previous week. It was a memory that he believed would be engraved in his senses for the rest of his life, however long that may be. They had been walking along the path together, shoulders sometimes grazing. Every time that happened he would feel a fiery blaze down his side, every fibre of his being yearning to reach across and touch her smooth porcelain skin. He wondered how he could possibly have resisted taking her hand.

The pair had been talking about the upcoming quidditch match, mindless babble really: how their new strategy was sure to outwit Slytherin, the new Nymbus, and Luna Lovegood's absurd lion head. Suddenly she had run off ahead. "Common Harry!", she yelled, turning back to look at him over her shoulder. He was momentarily transfixed at the site of her, hair slightly askew from her bun, cheeks flushed. It felt as though time had slowed down; he could see the glint as the gravel twisted in to the air from under her feet, her soft lips crafting his name so beautifully between rows of pearly white teeth. "Harry...Harry!" she called to him, laughing and beckoning him to her. She smiled a radiant smile and he was sure that his heart would burst.

Sleep finally claimed a hold on him, wrapping him in a cloak of untroubled slumber. "Harry...Harry!". He smiled as his mind began to drift away. "Harry...Harry!". The angelic voice was becoming more urgent. It made Harry feel uncomfortable and he frowned in his sleep. "Harry, Harry wake up!".

His eyes snapped open to find himself looking into a sea green pair of eyes, red hair framing the face that hovered above him, noticeable even in the dark, luminescent with its beauty. Ginny.

_What an enjoyable dream_.

His mouth twitched into a smile and he closed his eyes again, trying to fall back into the previously blissful slumber, reaching back into the darkness and unconscious desires. Something flicked him hard across the nose. 'Ow!", he exclaimed, sitting bolt up-right in bed, coming face to face with the object of his dream. Her face was milky white in the moonlight and her eyes had taken on an almost iridescent tone as they studied his sleep filled face and then moved away.

Harry reached across for his glasses, rubbing his eyes before placing them squarely on his face. Ginny had run to Ron's bed in the meantime and was now proceeding to shake her brother awake. Ron mumbled in his sleep and went to turn to his side. "Wake up you lazy git", Ginny hissed at him, pulling on his equally flame red hair. His eyes opened groggily and it took him a moment to register his younger sister only feet away from him.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, jumping out of bed, pulling the covers with him to cover his bare chest. He looked at Harry, his mouth hanging open to form a perfect 'o', confusion and surprise evident on his white face.

"Ginny, what -", Harry started before she held up a hand to stop him.

"Come quick", she whispered, before scrambling down the stone stairway that led to the boy's dormitory, her footsteps banishing the silence. Harry quickly swung his legs over the bed, placing his feet into his slippers, before hurrying off after Ginny.

Ron looked to the doorway that his best friend and sister had just exited through, and then looked longingly back towards his bed. He mumbled something about 'being the death of him' before snatching a jumper from the floor and walking languidly from the room.

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><p>Ginny had flopped down onto one of the bulky sofas that surrounding the dying fire, motioning for the boys to do the same. They did so, leaning forward on their knees eager to see what she could possibly want at two o'clock in the morning. Ginny quickly looked around, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that there was no one else in the common room before leaning forward to face the boys, her eyes hard but flashing with disquiet.<p>

"It's Hermione" she said finally once she had convinced herself that their conversation was private.

Her voice was barely audible and she appeared agitated. "She, well, um, she...", Ginny looked troubled, unsure of the right words, twisting her fingers together self-consciously.

"Why don't you start from the beginning", Harry said, trying to calm her, although he himself was starting to feel a rising panic in his gut. Hermione was his best friend. Had something hurt her? His stomach lurched at the thought. Ginny nodded and refolded her hands together.

"Well, you all have the practical potions exam tomorrow don't you", she began. "You know Hermione, she wanted to make sure that not even Snape could criticise her potion so she planned on staying awake tonight to make sure that she knew the theory inside out.

"Of course", Ron muttered under his breath. Ginny ignored him, save only to throw him a disparaging look.

"I haven't really been able to sleep that well recently you see," she continued, quickly glancing at Harry and then looking down at her lap, averting her eyes from him. "So I got up to see what Hermione was doing and when she told me she planned to stay up late. There was some chocolate that had been left out on the side, I think it was Lavendar's, and I told her that maybe the sugar would help her to stay awake. She took one, but I didn't take one myself because well, I'm trying to watch my figure." She looked sheepish and Harry wondered whether it was the right time to tell her that she didn't need to lose weight, that she was perfect in every way, but suddenly she slapped her fists down into the sofa

"I didn't know, honestly I didn't!", she exclaimed, her voice rising sharply.

"Bloody hell woman, what are you talking about?", asked Ron, who looked ready to fall back to sleep amongst the cushions he had used to form some sort a fort around himself.

Ginny looked exasperated as she continued: "Somebody must have hexed the chocolates because the next thing I know she had pushed everything on to the floor and was running around the room like a mad person!". She sighed and scrunched up her face, looking so disappointed. Harry longed to reach forward to brush the hair from her face but he refrained, twisting his own fingers together in an effort to to reach out to her.

"Where is she now?" he asked instead. Ginny raised her eyes, looking bashful and slightly embarassed.

"I didn't know what else to do so I, um, well I put her in a body binder curse", she said quitely.

Harry nodded in understanding but Ron merely snorted with laughter.

"I think maybe you should go and take the spell off her and bring her down, Gin", said Harry.

"Yes, okay" she said and went to walk off to the girls dormitory when Harry called out to her, "oh, and bring that box of chocolates down with you too".

Ginny disappeared up the stairs when Harry turned to Ron and landed a punch on his arm, "you git", he said to Ron, a smile playing on his face nonetheless. Obviously someone had played a practical joke on the Gryffindor girls, but it seemed that at least for now, there was nothing seriously wrong with Hermione and Harry felt the knot in his stomach dissipate.

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><p>They heard her before they saw her: a high pitch giggle getting louder as she descended the stairs. Her normal refrained and graceful pose had gone, and instead she was almost running, only slowed down by Ginny holding on to her hand and trying to pull her back. As she reached the bottom of the stairs she slipped free of Ginny's grasp and began to skip around the common room, eyes darting around, her cheeks pink and flushed. She ran to the dying embers of the fire, which reflected in her eyes as she crouched down in front of it. Harry and Ron looked at one another, fighting an internal battle between amusement and concern.<p>

"Oooooh, Pretty!", she exclaimed, reaching a hand out to put into the fire. Ginny, Ron and Harry saw what she was about to do and all lunged forward at the same time to try to grab the girl. Ron got there first, sleep all but gone from his face, snatching Hermione's hand away from the fire. She giggled again, something very uncharacteristic of her, as she reached out her free hand to Ron's hair. "Pretty fire", she cooed. Ron grabbed her free wrist with his remaining hand and hauled her to her feet. Sitting her down on the sofa, putting himself squarely in front of her and the fire, he put an arm around her to pin her down to the sofa, a flush rising to his cheeks when he saw Ginny looking at him with one eyebrow raised and a smirk on her face.

"Shut up", he glared at her before drawing his attention back to the struggling girl in his arms.

Harry took the box of chocolates from Ginny's hands. They looked normal enough. He brought the box to his nose. They smelled normal enough too. They were set in a plastic wrapper than lined the box, with dips and grooves for the sweets to sit in. Harry frowned and put a finger between the wrapper and box and proceeded to pull it up. There was something folded underneath, what looked like a small piece of ripped parchment.

_Know it all Gryffindor's_

_Not so smart now,_

_Lets see you be so bold_

_With the brains of a five year old._

_Sincerely_

_M,C,G_

Ginny had read the note over Harry's shoulder and gasped when she understood its meaning, her hand flying to her mouth. Ron, who was still struggling to keep Hermione still on the sofa, asked what it said. "Those bastards", he hissed, when Harry read the note aloud. "They think they can make a fool out of our Hermione, well they're wrong, she is still more clever than them with a five year old brain than they will ever be".

"Ron, you do know that the box wasn't for Hermione, it was given to Lavender and was probably meant for all of us?", said Ginny to her brother.

Ron blushed deeply, "yeh, I know, I was just saying wasn't I" he mumbled into his lap, the tips of his ears turning pink.

"I hate to say this, but there's only one person who can help us here", Harry said. The brother and sister looked at him quizzically. Searching both of their faces he spoke the name:

"Snape".

"Harry, no! No way!" cried out Ron, looking positively alarmed, "not that greasy git! Why not McGonagall?"

"No, Harry's right", said Ginny to her brother, "this is Snape's area. He's the best person to bring her to"

"Snape though!", he exclaimed again, "we are talking about the same person aren't we? Greasy hair, big nose? He nearly castrated Neville the other week for knocking over a jar of grasshoppers - think of what he'll do to us if we bring her down to him, like this, in the middle of the night!"

Whilst he had been talking and mimicking Snape's nose, Ron had let go out of Hermione. She now had shot up off the sofa and proceeded to run around the room, grabbing handfuls of paper and throwing them into the air, so that they rained down onto the floor. All that could be heard was the gasping breath of Hermione and the flutter of paper as it landed like early snow amongst the chairs and tables. All three Gryffindors looked at her.

"On second thoughts...".

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><p>Ginny had stayed in the common room to tidy up the mess that Hermione had made, but not before fetching a cardigan for Hermione who was bouncing impatiently on the balls of her feet. She threw it over the girls agitated shoulders in a maternal way, directing a small smile towards Harry. They stood at the portrait door, placing Hermione firmly between the two boys.<p>

Before opening it Harry turned to Hermione, bending down to look at her straight in the eyes, and using the most authorative voice he could muster. "Hermione, we have to play the silent game now. It means you have to be as quiet as you can. You must not talk or run away from Ron or I. Do you understand me?". Hermione nodded enthusiastically, drawing her lips into a tight line and pretending to zip shut her mouth with her hand. "Good girl" Harry said, feeling strange to be talking to his best friend in such a way, but also not really recognising the excitable girl before him. She looked the same, but well - she wasn't.

Ginny swung open the portrait door for them and they clambered out, both Ron and Harry taking one of Hermione's hands each.

"Good luck" she whispered mostly to Harry.

"Thanks Gin", he whispered back, before stepping into the darkness of the castle.

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><p>They reached the dungeons without incident, missing the regular patrols of teachers and prefects, albeit nearly having a run in with Filch's cat.<p>

"You sure about this mate?", Ron murmured to Harry as they rounded the last steps which lead down to the bowels of Hogwarts.

"You loose!" shouted Hermione joyfully! "You didn't play the silent game! I win!"

"Shhh!" both boys hissed at the same time. Harry nodded to Ron over Hermione's head, mouthing 'look at her' and cocking his head in Hermione's direction, who was now struggling under to shake off their grip on her.

Reaching the potion classroom they slowly pushed open the wooden door and made their way to the back of the room to an alcove that was carved into the stone. A solid black oak door stood in front of them, ominous and towering at the best of times, but in the dead of night in the cold dungeon platform, simply terrifying.

Hermione slid behind Ron, sensing that whatever was coming next would probably not be pleasant. Taking a deep breath Harry knocked hard on the door.

There was a pregnant silence in the room as they waited. "Maybe he's out?" said Ron hopefully after a brief pause, but suddenly with no warning the door was swung open violently. Snape towered over them, a thunderous expression on his face.

_If looks could kill..._

Both boys unconsciously took a step backwards. They noted that even though it was the dead of the night Snape was still wearing his black teaching robes which pooled around his feet and blended into the darkness. Only his eyes were truly visible, glittering with an intense ferocity. The sight was truly frightening.

Still glaring at them Snape took a menacing step forward. "If you two come up with any other excuse than that you are both dying, which I assure you, I will not be displeased to hear, then you can both turn around right now and expect to find Gryffindor house in minus points tomorrow", he hissed at them. "Explain yourselves. NOW".

Ron seemed to have frozen to the spot, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Harry took a nervous intake of breath before beginning to speak. "Sir, we didn't know who else to come to. You see it's-"

At this point Hermione timidly poked her head around Ron's shoulder, before coming face to face with the ominous potions master. She let out a squeal of fright and ducked back behind Ron who was still slack faced and pale.

"Miss Granger?" he asked, seeming confused. "What the devil is going on?"

"Hermione has been tricked into taking a potion...Sir", Harry spoke, trying to bite back the anger that threatened to creep into his voice. He handed Snape the slip of paper that they had found. He read it carefully, frowning and then pocketing it.

"Very well, you may go now. Leave Miss Granger with me".

"But sir!", both Ron and Harry exclaimed simultaneously, as if untrusting to leave their best friend, and an incapacitated one at that, alone with this choleric man.

"Leave now or find yourselves in detention from now until, let me see... forever" he jeered. "Come girl", he ordered Hermione, standing back against the doorway to let her pass.

Hermione though shrank further behind Ron, a frightened whimper escaping from her mouth. She clutched at Harry's hand, twisting her fingers into his. Harry turned to face his best friend, placing his free hand on her shoulder and looking directly into her frightened eyes. "'Mione, this is Professor Snape, he's going to help you".

Hermione glanced at Snape and then back to Harry. Despite his reassurances though she continued to remain rooted behind Ron. Both boys seemed unsure of what to do and shifted their feet nervously under Snape's intense gaze. The potions master looked at Hermione with a mix of curiosity and exasperation. The anger seemed to have fallen from his face and he looked merely tired and wearisome.

"I cannot help Miss Granger if she refuses to co-operate", he said to Harry, who was nervously trying to tug Hermione from where she was now clutching to the material of Ron's robes..

"Sir, I -". Snape held up a long fingered hand to stop him. Drawing out his wand he flicked it over his head and made a sweeping motion across the ground. Immediately an opalescent silvery blue stream of what looked like liquid, flew effortlessly from the wand tip to form a small doe, which raised a shimmering head to look at the girl before darting into the open door of Snape's chambers.

Hermione's eyes lit up and she let go of Harry and Ron instantly, chasing the doe into the passageway, a nervous giggle echoing around the dark potions classroom. Snape's eyes followed her until flicking back and scowling down at the boys who now stood empty handed. "Now... _Leave_". He didn't even wait for them to turn around before slamming the door in their faces, a violent bang echoing down the dungeon corridors.

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><p>Snape walked into his living quarters to fine Hermione perched on his sofa, the remnants of his patronus vanishing in wisps around her.<p>

"Miss Granger", Snape called. "_Miss Granger_".

He received no response from the girl and no recognition that he had even called her name. She continued to sit on the sofa, hand slightly raised to grasp at the ever vanishing wisps of light.

"Hermione".

She looked up from where she sat and immediately tried to shrink into the vast depths of the chair as she made eye contact with him, the smile quickly fading from her face. Snape made to step towards her but she let out a strangled yelp and almost leapt from the chair. He sighed, black hair swinging around his shoulders, but did not not take another step.

"Hermione, I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Professor Snape. Do you understand?"

Hermione slowly nodded and then, much to Snape's extreme surprise, she held out her right hand to him. He walked over to her and looked at her extended hand. If any one had been here to see him they would have laughed to see the normally impassive potions master with such a perplexed look on his face, his black eyebrows arched in a curious mix of amusement, annoyance and irritation.

"Daddy told me that when he meets a new person they both holds hands like this". She mimicked the motion with her hand, looking up at Snape from where she sat. He made no movement to take her hand and was about to turn around when he saw her face crumple, eyes losing their twinkle that not moments before, dare he say it, had captivated him.

He held out his hand to her, engulfing her small soft one in his large callused hand. She smiled up at him and began to sway their hands together. "No child", Snape spoke softly, "like this", and moved his arm up and down. Normally he would never have let his persona drop like this but he was sure that the girl would have no recollection of this when he had administered the anti-potion. If he was going to help her she could not keep hiding behind whatever object she could find he thought to himself as he gently shook hands with her.

It was strange to see the normally headstrong Hermione Granger sitting in front of him like a lost little girl. Her feet were drawn up beneath her and she had wrapped her arms protectively around her knees. Her pale skin was almost translucent in the candle light, which flickered in her large chocolate brown eyes. He hated to admit it but she was his best student, even though he would never let her know that, and in fact, gave her a harder time than most of the students in his class because of it. Snape had no doubt who had brewed the potion: "_M, G, C_". Malfoy, Crab, Goyle. Strong words would be had and as much as he hated to do it, he would have to deduct points from his own house.

"Look at the _that_", said Hermione, sliding off the sofa. Despite being still the size of a normal eighteen year old girl, her head did not even reach the top of Snape's shoulders and seeing the girl there, in her pink pajamas, made Snape suddenly aware of just how vulnerable the girl was. Something stirred in his chest, a sort of tug. He had not felt it in years. It made him even more angry with Malfoy and his cronies. Perhaps he should have words with Lucius.

With a start he realised that Hermione was heading for the fire and quickly grabbed her by the wrist, much the same as Ron had done only minutes earlier. "You stupid, silly little girl", he hissed at her, feeling her finch away from him, tears springing to her eyes. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, one hand still encircling Hermione's wrist. He was not the cold villain that his students painted him out to be, but even still he was not a particularly tolerant man at the best of times. It seemed that he would have to muster every amount of patience that he owned to merely make the girl sit still and shut up.

A glimmering tear formed in the girl's soft eyes, before falling down her face.

_Like dew in the morning._

Without even thinking Snape reached out and brushed the tear away with his thumb. His own action appeared to shock him before he quickly regained composure over himself, straightening up and leading Hermione to a large armchair. He pulled another chair over to sit in front of her. "Miss Granger...Hermione, how old are you?".

"I'm five and one quarter Mr Sir", she replied. Snape was surprised to hear a slight lisp in her speech. Her normal eighteen year old self was impeccably well-spoken. The new title that she had given him almost elicited a chuckle in his throat as well, but he kept it down, despite the fact that the corners of his mouth did lift ever so slightly.

"Very well, and do you know where you are?". Hermione looked around and nodded. Snape gripped the arms of the chair, trying with all his might not to snap at her. "Well, where are you child?".

"Mr Sir's cave", she said with complete sincerity in his voice. Snape couldn't help letting out a snort this time, his anger dissipating as he realised that with the bare stone walls, to a five year old this could indeed pass for a cave.

"Now Miss Granger, Hermione, I just want to check a couple of things" he told her. "Is that okay?" he added as an afterthought. He was painfully aware of how much she had flinched when he got close to her and again something stirred deep in his chest when he realised that the girl was frightened of him. Normally this was what he purposively elected his students to feel, he even took joy out of watching them squirm under this virulent gaze. But this was different, and so he waited patiently for her to agree. She eyed him warily before nodding her head, brown curls bouncing on her shoulders.

Snape reached for her wrist and checked her pulse with two long and pale fingers. He seemed satisfied with the results and dropped her wrist, before reaching to take out his ivory wand. Hermione only stared, her eyes wide and questioning. Realising that the child was muggle born and would not have even seen a wand until she was twelve he was careful to mutter the spell under his breath so as not to startle her. "_Lumos_". A light spilled from the tip of his wand, dancing across the floorboards and up and around the girl. "Follow the light with your eyes", he instructed her, moving his wand from side to side.

"Now, open your mouth".

"Are you a dentist too, Mr Sir?", she asked quizzically, head cocked to one side like a little bird.

Being a half-blood and growing up in a muggle world, Snape was aware of what a dentist was, although he did find all their strange drills and metal instruments arcane compared to what could be achieved by magic.

"No, I am not", he told her. He flicked his wand and the light went out, satisfied that all her vitals were fine. He knew the correct anti-potion to brew, it was just a simple concoction, although it would have to simmer for a few hours. Snape physically shivered at the though...he had no idea how to keep a five year old entertained.

_Should I call Minerva?_

"Hermione, I need you to stay put okay?" he told her. Suddenly, a memory flooded his mind, completely unasked for, completely unwelcome. It came nonetheless though.

_"Severus, stay put in this chair whilst Mother goes to the door', his Mother had said._

_Snape had eyed her warily. He wanted to go and play in the garden, not sit inside all day. His mother could see his frustration._

_"Sevy, you listen to me, there are crocodiles that hide under the floorboards who like to eat little children who move from their special safe chairs. If you move they'll gobble you up just like that!" she warned dangerously, her eyes wide as she clapped her hands together loudly, mimicking the snap of jaws._

_Snape had jumped and looked around nervously at the wooden floor. His mother bent down and kissed him on the forehead._

_"Love you Sevy", she whispered in his ear_

_"Love you Mum", he whispered back._

Snape suddenly snapped back to real life, pushing his thoughts back into the dark recesses of his mind. He had sworn long ago not to go looking back there, it presented nothing but a world of pain and hurt.

He turned back to Hermione who was looking up at him patiently. "That's a special safe chair you see, and if you move from it the floor crocodiles will eat you up". He felt incredibly silly talking such gibberish, but to his amusement Hermione gasped in shock and immediately drew her legs up under her, eyeing the old floorboards with fear and childish wonder. Turning around to walk to his lab a strange and foreign noise filled the room: a deep and resonating laughter, although he could not help but feel strangely sad, even after all this time.

* * *

><p>Snape returned from brewing the potion. It had not taken long but now he needed to leave it to simmer over the heat and allow the ingredients to blend together. Perhaps he should give her a book to read, he thought, although he really had nothing suitable in the slightest for a five year old. As he walked back into the living room though, his fears were quashed.<p>

Hermione had fallen asleep. Legs still drawn up to her chest, her arms were tightly wrapped around them and her head had fallen against the side of the armchair. He could hear her breathing softly as he approached her carefully, making sure not to wake her. Her eyelashes fluttered briefly and she stirred in her sleep but she did not wake.

He was relieved to find her asleep, entertaining children was definitely not one of his fortes. However he would still have to sit up with her to make sure that the potion did not boil over, or that she did not wake to be alone in the darkness. With a stir of annoyance he realised that she was sitting in _his_ armchair.

He was tempted to levitate her to the sofa, however there was something so innocent about her resting there that he felt strangely compelled for the warmth of human contact. Standing in front of her he gently picked her up, being careful not to stir her out of sleep. Her eyes remained tightly shut but as Snape picked her up, she wound her arms around his neck, fingers clutching at his black robes.

He set her down on the sofa and felt a strange stirring in the pit of his stomach when her hands remained wrapped around his neck, her fingers still buried into the black folds. Taking her hands he slowly and carefully loosened her grasp around him and let them fall back to her sides.

He moved to his bedroom to fetch a quilt which he laid on her sleeping form. Even though this girl in front of him was his student, Granger, it was not that girl that he actually _saw_ before him. They might have looked the same, but the small girl lying on his sofa, under his quilt, seemed so vulnerable and breakable compared to the stubborn girl that he had taught for the past six years. In fact, he felt strangely protective over this 'Hermione'.

A strand of brown curly hair had fallen over her cheekbone and he brushed it gently behind her ear with a long finger. Straightening up he remained looking down at her, almost wishing that she was back in his arms again. Somehow when he had picked her up it had felt - _right_. But that was complete nonsense of course, people did not fit together like jigsaw puzzles and she was, after all, his student.

Fighting the urge to run his finger along her jawbone he pulled back and retreated to his armchair, still warm from her body heat. Shaking himself out of his momentary sentimentality he pulled out a stack of student essays and began to mark them.

* * *

><p>Glancing at the clock over the fire place Snape saw that the potion would be just about ready, and the girl would need to be going back to her dormitory to get ready for a day of school. He felt a solitary pang of loneliness. It had been nice have company, even if it was of a student with a five year old mind.<p>

He was sure that if Hermione was to know the full extend of her actions she would be mortified. Usually he would have revelled in this and taken any opportunity to _increase_ such embarrassment, but something stopped him. Maybe he was feeling particularly benevolent after having had _actual_ human company, maybe it was because, dare he say it, she was actually surprisingly _cute_ as a small child. Either way though he thought it probably kindest that as soon as the potion had been given to her to go back to treating her as 'Granger', and not 'Hermione', and to try and forget everything that had happened that night.

Pulling out a quill and paper from a draw at his desk, he dipped the quill into a pot of emerald green ink and began to write:

_Dears Messrs. Potter and Weasley,_

_I believe it would be prudent to keep last night's activities to ourselves; I have no doubt that Miss Granger would not be happy to hear of her induced state and as such, for the interests of my students, I do believe that it will be in everyone's bests interests to remain silent._

_Prof. Snape._

Reading the letter back he wondered whether it was not harsh enough. Had the girl softened him so much in one night? Folding the letter neatly he placed it into an envelope an approached his own personal owl that was perched sleeping, head tucked under her wing. Snape stroked her smooth feathers, and tied the letter expertly to her leg. 'Take this to the Gryffindor dormitory' he muttered faintly to the bird who shook herself awake, hooted softly at him and spread her wings to launch out of a small open window at the top of the room.

Snape retreated into his potion's lab and rummaged around for an empty glass. Wordlessly he poured the now complete potion into it ready to give to Hermione. She was still sleeping as he emerged back into the sitting room and Snape found that she had wrapped herself up in the quilt as if it were some kind of cocoon. Kneeling at her side he laid a hand gently on her shoulder. "Child, wake up now", he said tenderly to her.

She stirred at the sound of his voice, sitting up and rubbing her eyes sleepily. "Hullo, Mr Sir", she spoke groggily.

He said nothing but nodded a greeting back. Setting the potion down to one side he handed her a bundle which he had asked a house elf to bring to him earlier in the morning. She looked at them with curiosity. "Go to the bathroom and put them on", he told her. Hermione nodded sleepily and slid off the sofa, heading off to the door that he had just gestured at.

Snap waited patiently for her to return. He had only just realised earlier in the morning about the fact that she had been placed in his care whilst wearing her pyjamas. He needed her to come round in her uniform to present to her the story which he had conjured whilst she slept. He had already in fact sent said pajamas back to her dormitory with the help of one of the school elves.

Hearing a small cough behind him he turned around to see Hermione standing behind him, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice. She had done the buttons up on her shirt completely wrong and her tie hung loosely around her neck. Her skirt was on back to front and her socks hung from her feet, flopping around as she walked towards him.

He hated to admit it but it was an endearing sight and he couldn't help but smile. She sat down on the sofa and he moved towards her, pulling up her socks with his nimble hands. With a quick flick of his wand he rearranged the buttons of her shirt so that they did up neatly.

_He stood in front of the mirror, trying in vain to work out what to do with the loose piece of material that hung around his neck. 'Stupid thing', he muttered, picking it up and letting it fall back to his chest._

_He walked down the stairs and stood in front of her, the 'stupid' scrap of material hanging from his hands._

_'Oh Sevy', his mother sighed, as she kneeled in front of him._

_Lifting up his shirt collar she put the tie around his neck._

_'The dog chases the bunny around the rabbit hole, and around again', she spoke softly as her hand wove the tie around his neck, 'and then the bunny jumps down the rabbit hole'._

_Putting his collar down she straightened the tie, before tickling him in his sides. He squealed in delight before leaning in to her soft embrace._

'There you go', he murmured gently, straightening her tie. 'Hermione, its time for you to go now', he said, still kneeling before her.

"But Mr Sir, I like it here with you', she pleaded to him, tears welling up in her eyes, clinging softly to her long eyelashes.

"I know. I know" he murmured. He stood up fully and was surprised when she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

At first he was unsure of what to do and he left his arms hanging limply at his sides, but at some point he began to hug her back, fighting back a strange urge to stroke her hair. _You don't have to give it to her_, a dark voice in the back of his mind said as he looked at the anti-potion which he had brewed. But of course he did, what was he thinking? That he could somehow keep a student here with him like the child he never had, a nearly grown-woman at that. He shook his head, fearing for his own sanity if he was really being _this_ sentimental.

He picked it up and handed it to her. "Drink this", he said, before taking a step backwards and turning his back on her. It would take no time at all for the potion to have an effect and he didn't want Granger to see the strange sadness on his face when she came round.

Momentarily there was a gasp from behind him.

"Professor Snape...what...what am I doing here?" Hermione looked around her in a complete state of shock, trying desperately to take in the unfamiliar surroundings and the fact that her potions master was there with her.

"Do you not remember you insolent little girl?", Snape sneered, turning to face her, "You came barging to my office to ask for extra time to prepare for practical examination this afternoon before passing out on my sofa. I dare say you will find 100 points deducted from Gryffindor".

She was so shocked her jaw fell ever so slightly open before she appeared to regain some composure. "I am very _very_ sorry Sir, it will not happen again. I don't, I don't even remember.." she trailed off.

"Perhaps you should stop trying to be such an insufferable know-it-all then Miss Granger, it is obviously affecting that brain of yours", he jeered. "Now, get out, go to your classes".

"Yes Professor", Hermione said, grabbing her school jumper from the chair and hurrying out of Snape's quarters.

Snape watched her go before sinking back in to his armchair. He covered his face with his hand and closed his eyes. A sudden memory burned in the front of his brain and his chest tightened.

_"Don't forget Sevy, I'll always love you no matter what"._

_"Me too Mummy. I love you too"._


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione climbed the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room in a bewildered reverie.

_What had just happened?_

Pushing her mind back to the night before she tried to clutch at the memory that felt as though it were clouded in a thick mist, but the effort was as futile as trying to catch time. The more she pressed, the more her mind fought back.

Needless to say Hermione Granger was scared. She was proud of her intelligence, her reason, her logic. Her brain was her most valuable asset and as far as she was concerned something had happened to it. Something bad, she was sure. What if she started to lose other memories? What if her brain could no longer process information? Oh God, was it possible to turn Squib after birth?

She stopped in her tracks. "No of course not" she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "And now I'm talking to myself!" she laughed bitterly, throwing her hands up. She would have perhaps laughed more genuinely and freely at her own irrational thoughts, had she not believed them to hold any truth.

Lifting a foot, she proceeded up the great staircase.

_Step_. The Diricawl originated in Mauritius. It shares traits with the phoenix.

_Step_. The hypotenuse of a wizarding tritrangulate shifts.

_Step_. Elphidius Samuel wrote Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration in 1953

_Step_. Dragon Eggs are defined as a Class A Non-Tradable Good.

She was so wrapped in her own thoughts that she nearly walked straight into the portrait of the Fat Lady. After two apologies and repeating the password, 'Cabicatus' five times to a thoroughly disgruntled painting, the portrait door finally swung open and Hermione stumbled in to be greeted by any empty common room. She was glad. Her head was still spinning and the panic that she felt growing inside her was only just being held in check.

Throwing herself on to the sofa, she snuggled into the large cushions. The fire was freshly lit and its warmth caressed her face with a calming touch. She closed her eyes and buried her head still further into the embrace of the settee.

Stay calm, she told herself. Everything will be fine.

Deep breaths.

In

Out

In

Out.

In ...

... Out...

* * *

><p>She was running. No, gliding, across the luscious grass. The morning dew sprang up around her legs but she only laughed, a glorious, musical note. He ran to meet her, easily catching up, throwing an arm around her waist so that she spun around to face him, her smile wide, eyes gleaming. A bird sang somewhere close and they could hear each others panting breath and the race of their beating hearts. Their eyes met, held by an invisible thread of longing. Never blinking they drew closer. He could feel her warm breath, and she his. Time had frozen, stretching and warping.<p>

Suddenly there was a sharp knock, fingers being rapped against glass. They jumped apart startled. The sun burned bright and the sky was blue as he looked around to find the source of the noise. Turning to his left he saw it, a window hovering in mid air. Looking through it there was no sun, no warm breeze, no _her_, just a face, the face of Ron Weasley. He was tapping on the glass and looking at his best friend with a look of hurt and betrayal on his face. 'How could you?', he asked, the glass muffling his words, 'she's my sister'. And all the whilst he continue to rap at the glass with his knuckle, a slow and rhythmic tattoo.

Harry sat bolt right up in bed, heart pounding. He threw a glance over to Ron who was still sleeping soundly, leg hanging out of the covers and a puddle of drool steadily making a small pool on his pillow. Relief washed over Harry. It was just a dream. But still he could hear the steady knock on glass. Turning to his window he saw the owl on his windowsill, tapping her beak to be let in.

Climbing out of bed, his heart still faintly beating, he pulled up the window, and the owl hopped in, shaking her feathers in indignation at having been kept outside. "Stop being so dramatic you bloody bird", snorted Harry, taking the small roll of parchment from around her leg. Immediately she launched off, clearly still vexed from her wait on the windowsill.

Harry closed the window and pulled open the parchment. The impeccable written hand, the green ink. Oh how lovely it was to be woken by dear old Professor Snape.

As he read over the short note, he had to admit that the Professor was right, Hermione _would_ be mortified if she found out the truth and besides, what purpose would the truth even serve? She was cured and fine and as far as he was concerned, the whole mess of last night could just be forgotten.

He quickly stood and went to the writing bureau and pulled out a quill and fresh piece of parchment. He dipped the tip into his inkwell and began to scratch out a hurried note:

_'Dearest Ginny,'_

What was he, her mother? Balling the paper he tossed it into the bin.

_'Ginny_

_Hey, what's up, it's Harry. Hope you had a fantastic sleep!'_

_Fantastic_!? What on earth was he thinking - he sounded like a over enthusiastic mad man! Screwing the paper into a ball he pulled out another sheet of parchment and began. Again.

_'Gin,_

_Good Morning. Sire Snape, Order of Sarcasm, First Class, has ordered us not to speak of last nights 'events', with Hermione. He feels it's in 'everyone's interests' (so by that I gather he means his own) to talk no more of it. I hate to admit it, but the git does have a point._

_See you at breakfast!_

_Harry'_

There, that should do it, even if it did mean that Snape would probably give him two years worth of detentions if he ever found the note.

Attaching the message to Hedwig's leg he stroked her soft feathers with a crooked index finger and pushed her out of the still open window. 'Take this to Ginny in the girls dorm', he told her, going to close the window. With a second thought he leaned back outside. 'And I don't want to find another mauled field mouse on my floor', he shouted after her. He pulled himself back in and shut the window. 'They make me lose my appetite', he grumbled.

* * *

><p>'The Canons have won the world cup over 21 times', an exasperated Ron could be heard.<p>

'Yes, and the last time they actually won something was in 1892', Harry taunted back, 'Chudley Canons, more like Chudley ping pong balls'. There was a dull thud as Ron punched Harry in the arm. They both laughed, although Ron had worked himself up into a slight flush.

Both boys appeared into the empty common room. For once they were up early for a change, rather than them having to fight over the last piece of toast at breakfast every morning. Standing in front of the fire Ron stretched his arms over his head, letting out a pleasant grunt as his back popped. Swinging his arms down he was about to flop backwards onto the cushions when Harry let out a half shout, half scream, which came out sounding funnily like a baboon cry.

Ron immediately changed his course of action and leapt forward, turning hurriedly around to see the cause of Harry's monkey imitation. A student was curled into the back of the sofa, facing away from them, her legs drawn up so that she lay in a fetal position. Even facing away though, the unmistakable curl of brown hair was enough to tell the two boys that the person in front of them was none other than Hermione Granger.

Ron had crept slightly closer to the sleeping girl, and peered over her shoulders to try and get a better look at her face. Frowning, he straightened up to face Harry. "She doesn't look brilliant mate", he said. Now it was Harry's turn to frown. He walked over and softly brushed away the hair that covered her face. Placing a hand on her forehead his expression now turned to one of worry.

"She's burning up", he said in a half whisper to Ron. If indeed she was ill, he didn't really want to be the one to wake her up. Instead they both made their way over to a corner of the room furthest from where Hermione lay to speak without risking waking her.

"Bloody bastard", spat Ron in hushed tones, "he told us to leave her with him, said it was safe. And now look", he wildly gestured to the sofa "she's passed out in the middle of the common room".

Harry nodded in agreement, but his brow was furrowed. "I know that the man is an absolute git Ron, but I mean, he is a teacher, and I'm sure that he wouldn't have let Hermione leave if she wasn't absolutely okay. Perhaps she had an allergic reaction to the potion, or maybe its just flu, of maybe a nasty side effect. I think..." he hesitated, "I think we should go back down to see Snape...just in case".

Ron groaned and rolled his eyes in a much exaggerated manner. "Since when did you get so responsible?".

"Must be all that time with Hermione", Harry laughed quietly.

"Reckon we should cast a cooling spell over her?", asked Ron.

Harry thought for a minute before declining, "the spell may react to the potion and make it worse. Probably best to leave it".

"Responsible _and_ wise!", joked Ron, heading to the portrait hole. Harry laughed.

Ron had one leg over and was just about to climb out when he suddenly stopped and looked back over his shoulder to Harry, a serious expression on his face.

"What the hell is a ping pong ball?".

* * *

><p>They had grabbed a piece of toast from the dining hall on their way to the dungeons, Ron now wiping his greasy buttered fingers into his school robes. Rounding the last corner they readied themselves for whatever insult, jibe, derision, taunt or otherwise unpleasant comment Snape would throw at them for coming to see him before classes actually started.<p>

Reaching the door at the back of the classroom Harry pushed Ron forwards. "It's your turn this time". Ron simply glared at him before Harry gave him another shove forwards towards the door. Hesitantly, Ron lifted his hand, knocking on the door and then jumping away as if it were burning.

The door was thrown back and Severus Snape glared down at them, an incredulous look upon his face. "Sir..", Ron began, before the door was slammed shut only inches away from his face. Harry fought an urge to laugh at the expression on his friend's face, one of furious indignation, his cheeks and ears a blazing red. This time when he brought his hand to the door, he banged with his fist. Hard.

"What on earth do you want", Snape growled menacingly at them when once again the door was thrown open. Ron seemed to lose some of his new found courage under the furious gaze of the potions master.

"It's Hermione", he squeaked, before righting himself, and saying in a much lower tone "It's Hermione sir".

Harry stepped in. "She's passed out in the Gryffindor common room Sir. And she has a fever. We were just wondering whether that's a normal reaction to the anti-potion that you gave her".

"Are you _questioning_ me boy?", spat Snape, taking a step out of the doorway to tower over Harry.

"No Sir, of course not. It's just, well, we're worried...".

"So why come here instead of Madame Pompfey?", Snape sneered.

"Well Sir, in your note you advised absolute discretion."

_Damn, the boy was right._

"Let her sleep. It could just be that she was tired from her escapades last night and needs some rest. Perhaps she should stop trying to be the pet know-it-all and actually sleep once in a while", he sneered. "Stay there", he ordered before turning on his heel and walking back into his office.

"Do we looks like dogs?" muttered Ron angrily.

Moments later Snape was back, handing them a roll of parchment. "Give this to Miss Granger's Professors; it excuses her from her classes this morning", he told them. "Now, _leave_". The door was once again slammed into their faces.

Both Harry and Ron stood staring at the wooden door in front of them for a few moments.

"Woof", said Harry, before looking at Ron. Both cracked up, and were still laughing when they arrived at Transfiguration.

* * *

><p>"'Mione... Hermione".<p>

Someone was calling her name.

"You think she's alright mate?", the voice asked, growing distant. A different voice grew closer this time.

"Hermione?". There was a touch on her shoulder and a warm breath across her face. Her eyes fluttered open to find herself looking in to the eyes of Harry Potter. Behind his shoulder stood a worried looking Ron, who shifted from foot to foot, unable to contain his impatience.

Hermione sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes with bawled up fists.

"What time is it?" she groggily asked Harry.

"It's lunch time 'Mione", said Harry, Ron piping in to let her know that they'd brought her some "bloody amazing fried chicken" up from lunch for her.

It took only a few seconds for the words to sink in before she launched herself out of the chair. 'Oh God, oh God I must have fallen asleep. I was just so tired this morning. What did Professor Bins say? Professor McGonagall? I missed both History of Magic _and_ Transfiguration? Were they mad? What did I miss?", she spluttered, beginning to pace with agitation before Harry grabbed a firm hold of her shoulders to calm her.

"Don't worry Hermione, we told the teachers that you weren't feeling very well and were having a lie down", he said, leading her back to the sofa and pushing her down onto it.

"But after five years we know you _ever_ so well", smirked Ron, reaching into his bag and pulling out a textbook and roll of parchment. "Here", he said, handing it over. "This is the reading for Binns and here is the essay for McGonagall. But once you've done it, mind if I have a look over it, just for a summary y'know?". He looked at her with the best puppy god eyes he could muster which finally elicited a laugh from the panicked girl. Her heart rate slowed and she managed to hide the tremble in her hands as she took the parchment from Ron.

"I'll let you read the introduction and conclusion Ronald; you know you will never pass your O.W.L.s if you continue to copy all of my essays?".

"Copy!" Ron exclaimed, with a false look of betrayal across his face "Never!". A lop sided smile grew on his face and he gave her a quick peck on the cheek before walking to the boys dormitory.

She looked after him with a small smile on her face. Harry remained standing next to her though and out of her periphery she could see him looking at her. His face wore an expression of worry and concern as she turned to look at him.

"Do I have something on my face Harry?", she asked him. _Why was he staring at her like that?_

"No, of course not, it's just, well, are you _sure_ you're okay Hermione?"

She wondered whether to tell him of what had happened this morning. Her sudden memory loss. Her actually falling asleep in front of a professor. He was her best friend after all. But no, she needed time to process the information, and research. She would need to go straight to the library.

"I'm fine", she lied, "just tired. Perhaps it's some 24 virus". _If only_, she thought snidely, _24 hours don't make you lose your mind and sleep in your professor's rooms_.

Harry didn't look convinced but he kept his mouth shut, frowning ever so slightly. She gave him a small smile. She was lucky to have a best friend like him. If it was Ron worrying like this he would have bombarded her with questions until she either relented or broke down in tears of frustration but Harry was - calmer, more understanding

"Honestly Harry. Maybe I'll go and take another lie down though, just to make sure. Thank you". She touched his hand lightly in reassurance before turning to the girls dorm.

He looked slightly appeased but she had known him long enough to tell when there was something on his mind; a slight twitch of his sharp green eyes, the tiniest of frowns on his lips. They were only subtle nuances that were hard to catch. But she noticed. Still though he nodded and accepted her explanation without further question.

"Feel better 'Mione". He disappeared up the stone steps to the boys dormitory. Hermione felt bad lying to him, but the thought of what had actually happened was so mortifying she didn't know whether she'd every be able to tell anyone - _ever_! She wondered whether Snape had actually seen her sleeping. The rational part of her brain told her that of course he had, she had been in his sitting room after all, but then, why had he not just woken her up and sent her back to her dorm room? There were just so many questions that needed answers, and it seemed like only Snape could provide them, but she would be damned if she would voluntarily approach him, let alone even _speak_ to him again such was her humiliation. The library would have to suffice.

She watched Harry's retreat with bated eyes and as soon as she could see he was gone she grabbed her satchel and school jumper from the sofa and ran towards the portrait hole, swinging it open and jumping through. She almost snorted as a voice in her mind exclaimed 'to the library!' as if a cavalry charge was about to begin. Smiling, she shut the portrait slowly, so as not to make any noise, and then almost jogged off in the direction of her favourite place in the castle.

* * *

><p>Hermione has barricaded herself into a corner of the library with every book that she could possibly find on memory loss and amnesia, as well as a few scholarly, and highly controversial, articles on '<em>The Degenerative Wizarding Mind<em>'. She had spent the last 40 minutes skim reading, only to come up empty handed.

"Drat", she growled, slamming the last book down with a resounding thud, loud enough to earn her a stern glare from Madam Pince.

Perhaps she would need to look into muggle science, she thought to herself, but there was no way she could do that before she went home for the holidays, and that was a month away.

Levitating the books back to their respective positions, Hermione glanced at her wrist watch.

"Double drat", she exclaimed, realising that she was late for the first class of the afternoon: ancient runes. Pulling herself up she began to pace out of the library, Professor Babbling was not one for late comers.

Just as soon as she had made it outside the library she felt her feet going from underneath her, and she landed sharply on the floor, the wind knocked out of her. Resisting the urge to cry she looked down and around her to see what could possibly have caused her to trip.

_Bloody shoelace._

It was undone and flopped on the floor like a dying snake. Hermione resisted the urge to scream. _Could this day get any worse?_

Hauling herself up off the ground, she knelt to tie her shoelace. Picking up either end in both hand she simply looked at the piece of black lace in her hand. She crossed one over the other in a slow and cautious movement, before stopping.

Suddenly she cried out, leaping up and flattening herself against a wall.

_I've forgotten how to tie my shoelaces._

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh God._

She couldn't exactly go pelting hel-mel through the castle with her lace untied though. Probably end up on the floor again. "Triple drat", she yelled to an empty entrance hall, before snatching both shoes from her feet, and making a run for her ancient runes class in just her socks.

_That's it. I've gone mad._


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione burst into the classroom with moments to spare and managed to quickly slide into a seat at the back of the class. Normally she would have made her way to the front, much to the disdain of her classmates, but running around a castle barefoot, even in the magical world, would be enough to elicit some rather unwelcome questions. How was she supposed to tell her classmates that she had forgotten to tie her shoelaces?

A more prudent question perhaps, _how_ had she forgotten!

The room was warm and she pulled out her arithmacy textbook from her satchel, trying to distract herself with sorting out her inkwell and quills. Looking up she saw the rest of the students talking to one another, leaning against desks and laughing at jokes. She felt strangely detached from their carefree world. She would not normally have joined them in their conversations, preferring to go over homework before the lesson started, but this time it felt as thought she were watching the scene before her through a television screen. She passed a shaking hand across her eyes, trying to quell the rising sense of panic. _What was happening to her?_ The voices of the other students suddenly seemed too loud, as if her hearing had been enhanced tenfold and she looked around nervously, wondering whether anyone else had noticed the sudden change in volume.

Making a quick decision she began to gather her books back up, not even bothering to stack them neatly and instead throwing them haphazardly into her bag. With little space to spare she shoved her shoes in too, glancing quickly around to check whether anyone had noticed. She had never skipped a class before, and here she was planning on doing it three times in one day, but she had to leave, she just felt so - _trapped_.

Standing up weakly she turned around to leave, but the Professor chose that moment to walk into the classroom, slamming the door behind her as she walked to the podium and threw her bag down. The class immediately fell silent and students who had been standing slipped behind their desks and took out their quills. Hermione too sat back down, clasping her clammy hands together in her lap and wishing that she'd not even bothered to come at all.

The Professor placed a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles on her long nose and surveyed the class in front of her, nodding to herself when she had counted that all of her students were in attendance.

_What if Professor Vector asks a question and I don't know the answer? What if she asks me to recite something and I can't do it? What if she asks me to hand out the class papers...with no shoes on?_

Hermione's brain was working overtime and she began to tug furiously at the hem of her skirt, wishing that her beating heart would slow down, right now it felt like it was vibrating her ribcage. She pulled at her collar, trying to force more air into her lungs, desperately wishing for a breeze of cool air in the now unbearably hot classroom. Her fingers fumbling at her top button, but it was a new shirt though and the buttons were still stiff which meant that her sweaty fingers kept slipping. Even trying to loosen her tie only succeeded in pulling it into a tighter knot.

For the first time she was glad to be sitting at the back of the classroom, especially since it seemed that none of her classmates had noticed her vastly agitated state. _How had they not noticed that the classroom had positively turned into a furnace?_

Hermione's skin prickled and she stood up, regardless of the fact that Professor Babbling had already launched into her lecture on the third decimal of pi. The room lurched beneath her and she almost fell, grabbling for the desk to keep her upright. A shrill ringing filled her ears and her vision had become tunneled, as if she were looking down the wrong end of a telescope. She became aware of her peers turning round to stare at her and the voice of the Professor asking her something. She didn't know what though. It was just a muffled noise. Everything was a blur. It felt like she was looking at a badly tuned television set, and the picture was getting worse.

_This isn't real. It's a dream that's all._

_It has to be_

And with that she fell to the floor in a dead faint.

* * *

><p>Hermione winced as her eyes fluttered open. This was wrong. Everything was upside down.<p>

Trying to sit up she pushed herself up by the elbow and immediately groaned. Her head throbbed and her right wrist was aching with a dull pain. Suddenly a face came into view, blocking her vision of the ceiling. Glasses slipped down a long nose and a spindly finger pushed them back up.

"Stay down Hermione", came the slightly nervous voice of Professor Vector who put her hand gently on Hermione's shoulder and pushed her back towards the ground. She could hear the quiet murmur of her classmates, no doubt talking about how their arithmancy class had suddenly become a touch more exciting than usual, but she was glad that she couldn't make out their words. She felt her cheeks getting hot and wished that Professor Vector would take her hand off her and let her sit up, _did she not realise that she was making the whole situation worse by keeping her lying down on the floor?_

There was a flash of green light from the fireplace and then suddenly Madame Pomfrey appeared, gently nudging Professor Vector aside. She began to shine a bright light into Hermione's eyes, pulling at her eyelids with a force that Hermione thought was quite unnecessary. Something strangely unbidden raced across her memory as Madame Pomfrey urged her to follow the light, and had she not been so annoyed by the flustered medi-witch, she may even have felt - _comforted_. She had no idea why though, and could only frown as the elderly woman continued to shine the bright light in her eyes.

Finally satisfied the medi-witch extinguished her wand, leaving bright pink and green spots dancing across Hermione's vision. She felt a cool hand resting upon her cheek and closed her eyes.

"Hermione dear, wake up", came the stern but gentle voice of the school nurse. Her eyes opened quickly and she almost opened her mouth to protest in embarrassment: she had been closing her eyes to try and get rid of the infernal spots, not to go to sleep, but evidently that was what the witch had thought she was doing. Her cheeks flamed again when she realised that the whole class was watching this encounter, and she glared angrily at a Ravenclaw girl who giggled behind her hand.

Without warning she became aware of the sensation of being entirely weightless. It did not take her long to realise that she was being levitated by Madame Pomfrey, and she quickly struggled free of the spell, to land with a soft thud back onto the classroom floor. _How many ways was it possible for a teacher to embarrass somebody?_

"What is the meaning of this", asked an annoyed Madame Pomfrey, staring down at Hermione, arms crossed, foot tapping rhythmically against the wooden floorboards.

"I can walk", Hermione said, annoyed, placing a hand on the table to heave herself up. She let out a painful yelp as a shooting pain shot up her wrist into her shoulder. Switching hands she pulled herself up from the floor, cradling her damaged arm against her chest.

Madame Pomfrey quickly took it from where she held it and inspected it with a gentle prod of nimble fingers. "Sprained", she muttered under her breath. She looked at Hermione with a disapproving expression on her face. "Shouldn't be walking", she muttered to herself again. _Was she under the impression that Hermione, and the rest of the class for that matter, could not hear her?_

"Follow me," she finally said to the girl with what seemed to be a permanent flown etched on her face. Hermione quickly followed after her, grabbing her satchel with her good hand and swinging it over her shoulder. She didn't look back as she left, although she could feel the eyes of all seventeen of her classmates and teacher bearing into her back.

"Back to your seats now class", she heard Professor Babbling say, before the door swung shut and all that could be heard was the sharp click of heels in the stone corridor as the medi-witch paced on ahead. Hermione signed and jogged to catch up with her, silently relieved that no one had mentioned her bare feet.

* * *

><p>"So once you put in the Mandrake Root, then what? Is it the frog spawn or the dragonfly eggs?', a nervous Ron asked Harry.<p>

"Um, I dunno mate, I'm going to go with the eggs", said Harry, leaning against the stone wall and closing his eyes.

Ron nodded and lent back on to the wall next to Harry, silent for a moment, before leaping forward again.

"It's counter-clockwise that we stir right? Or actually it could be clockwise? Or is it that zig zag thing? I'm sure its clockwise". Ron began tapping his foot on the floor and making erratic hand movements to demonstrate motions, staring intently at Harry for answers.

"Haven't got a clue mate. Ask Hermione" Harry said back, his eyes still closed.

"She's not here though. Where is she?", Ron had now started to pace. He pulled his shirt sleeve up roughly and looked at his watch. "And bloody hell its one minute to three. We have to go in in _one_ minute Harry".

They were waiting outside the entrance to the potions classroom with the rest of the sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins, waiting for their practical potions exam. Some students stood slumped against the walls, eyes closed, clearly not even wanting to know. Others muttered ingredients and measurements under their breath, shaking their heads and glancing at crumpled sheets of parchment.

No one, not even the Slytherins, had tried to write the answers on their hands this time. After Snape had found Gregory Labbet cheating in the last exam, well, no one was going to try that again - _ever_.

The door to the classroom opened as Ron's watch hit three o'clock and Snape stood aside to let his students file through. "There will be _no_ notes. There will be _no_ talking. Once you have finished your potion you will bring me a glass vial and place it on my desk. You will then sit silently and wait for the end of class. Do _not_ make me repeat myself", Snape reeled off to them, managing to sound both bored and annoyed at the same time.

The class took their seats and immediately began to pull out ingredients and crush and chop them into fine powders. Snape's keen eyes glanced around the room. There was a seat empty. He didn't care if their dog had just died, _no one_ missed his potions exam.

A quick scan of the class confirmed to him that it was in fact Hermione Granger who was missing. He frowned and was immediately annoyed. Bloody girl seemed to be making a continued nuisance of herself. But something else stirred in his chest though which made him even more annoyed - it actually felt like worry and Severus Snape did not worry about _anyone_.

"Longbottom!", he barked, "what the hell do you think your doing? It's thirty seconds into the exam and you've already messed up. Are you incapable of doing anything right?". He sneered at Neville, who by this point had dropped his mortar bowl to the floor causing it to crack in half and spill the mushed up remains of mandrake root onto the flagstones. Snape strode down from his teaching platform to where Neville was still standing with his arms outstretched to try and catch the bowl.

Stopping in front of him Snape peered in lower until he was inches from the face of the terrified boy. "Clean this up. _Now_", he hissed, eliciting a whimper from Neville. Clearly, he wasn't losing it - the girl hadn't turned him soft after all.

Snape straightened up and walked back to his podium feeling significantly better.

* * *

><p>The test hadn't been too disastrous, save for the exception of Longbottom managing to set his cauldron on fire and Finnigan managing to blow his up. But still, it felt so damn good taking points from Gryffindor, he didn't really care about the cauldrons that would now have to be replaced.<p>

Potter and his annoying little mongrel Weasley had tried to stay behind to talk to him after the test, presumably about Granger, but as soon as he had dismissed the class he had strode quickly to his office and barricaded himself in. They could knock till they were blue in the face, he would _not_ answer the door to them.

Pulling a bottle of firewhisky down of a shelf, which was carefully hidden behind a large potions tome, he poured a significant amount into a glass and threw it down his throat in one. _Where was Granger?_ It wasn't like her to miss a class.

_Why do you even care?_

He mentally chided himself for worrying about the insufferable little know-it-all. Last night she had been incapacitated, and he, being a responsible adult, had been obliged to look after her. His obligation ended the moment she left his quarters. He sighed and poured another glass of the firewhisky. Hopefully he could get drunk enough to truly believe that.

* * *

><p>The portrait to the Gryffindor tower swung open, Harry, Ron and Neville stepping inside.<p>

"Neville, honestly, it wasn't that bad", Harry tried to comfort his friend.

"Wasn't that bad? Wasn't _that_ bad! No Harry, it was _much_ worse! It was a disaster". Neville sank into the nearest chair and put his head in his hands. "Gran's gonna kill me", he groaned, shaking his head miserably.

"Snape just hates us" Ron grumbled, "s'not our fault".

"Got that right", snorted Harry, grinning at his two friends. In actual fact he had found the potions exam surprisingly okay, and had managed to get his potion to turn the required cobalt colour, but he wasn't going to mention that to his two friends, especially when one of them had set his cauldron alight and singed Hannah Abbots hair in the process.

"Game of wizard chess?", asked Ron, "We can take it in turns to play one another".

"Cheers guys", said Neville, "but I'd best start studying for the History of Magic exam. It has to go better than that just did or Gran'll castrate me". He gave them a small smile and made his way up the stone steps to the boys dormitory.

"Drat, I'd forgotten than Bins gave us that test", moaned Ron, sinking down into a sofa, Harry quickly following suit.

"Reckon Hermione's okay?" he asked. Ron shrugged his shoulders, seemingly wallowing too much in his own misery at remembering the History test, than caring about Hermione. Harry frowned. Ron could be so, well, Ronlike at times. He looked around to see whether maybe he had missed Hermione on the way in, but instead spotting Ginny working at one of the desks. It felt as though his heart had jumped into his mouth and was now beating overtime. _Could Ron hear it?_ No, of course not. He stood and made his way over, hoping to God that his cheeks weren't red.

"Hey Gin". She looked up to see who had called her name and a small shy smile spread across her face when she realised it was Harry.

"Hi Harry, how are you?"

"I'm good thanks, little bit tired", said Harry, pulling up a chair next to her.

"Me too" she said and then laughed as she yawned, making Harry yawn too. "It was a late night after all. I take it everything went okay, I got your note this morning? Was Snape harsh on you?"

"Let's just say that I think your brother might have had to change his trousers when we got back" he smirked, looking at where Ron was now lying on the sofa hitting himself on the head with a rolled up newspaper. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"I agree that we shouldn't tell Hermione about what happened" she said looking thoughtful, "but then again I haven't seen her to tell her anyway".

"What?" questioned Harry, furrowing his brows, "you didn't see her at lunch in the dorm? Or now?".

Ginny shook her head. "Her bed's been made all day. Haven't seen her once. Why, what's wrong?"

"She told me that she was going to have a lie down during lunch time. And she missed the potions exam", Harry told her. _What was he supposed to do now?_ Snape was being an even more fowl git than normal by completely ignoring them and he had absolutely no idea where Hermione could have gone to even start looking for her. He frowned. That wasn't entirely true.

"Ron", he called over his shoulder, "we're going to the library". He couldn't help but laugh at the mortified expression on Ron's face.

* * *

><p>That blimming annoying witch had asked him to brew a new batch of dreamless sleep, just when he was beginning to enjoy himself with the whisky. The owl had come through the open window, depositing its message on his desk, before flying off. Could he, Professor Snape, please brew some dreamless sleep for a patient tonight?<p>

_Could she, learn that all he wanted to do was sleep?_ He grumbled through his teeth as he started to collect the different ingredients needed. It wasn't even a hard potion to make, couldn't she do it herself? He knew he was being unfair, she had patients to look after, and make a fuss over, but hell, Severus Snape had never cared about being fair before, and he definitely wasn't going to start caring now.

* * *

><p>Stepping from the floo, he brushed himself off and walked over to Poppy's desk to set down the vials of dreamless sleep. He remained looking at where he had placed them for a moment, before quickly pocketing one of the vials himself. He was tired after staying up with Granger last night and he couldn't be doing with anyone interrupting him tonight.<p>

He turned to leave, and had one foot in the fire place, when he heard the sound of two women arguing. Maybe it was Poppy and Minerva - now _that_ would be fun. He snorted at the thought. Perhaps he was a bit tipsy.

Eventually curiosity got the better of him and he walked out of the office to try and find the bodies that the bickering voices belonged to.

He had to suppress a laugh at the scene he saw when he rounded the corner: Hermione Granger standing in front of Madame Promfrey, making erratic hand gestures, her cheeks an angry flush of red. She was shouting at the medi-witch, something about 'not wanting to stay in this bloody bed', and 'feeling fine'. Poppy in turn was shouting right back at the girl to 'get back into that bed' and 'stop being such a disturbance'. His amusement was further compounded by the fact that Hermione was wearing nothing but the horrible greying hospital robes, garments which anyone would find hard to take her seriously in.

A small part of his brain wanted to ask why she was in the infirmary, but how could he ask without sounding suspicious? _Why do you care about sounding suspicious? There is nothing suspicious about it. She missed your test and you want to know why. You don't _actually_ care about _her. He shook his head at this internal dialogue going on in his head and chose this moment to step forward into the room and clear his throat. Loudly and pointedly. Both girl and woman immediately stopped their arguing and turned to look at him

"Madame Pomfrey, the potion that you request is on your desk" Snape told her.

"Thank you Professor" said Madame Pomfrey, giving him a quick cursory glance before turning back to Hermione with an angry expression on her face. Snape knew that he should leave. He had come here to drop off the dreamless sleep, and now he had done so he had no reason to stay. But instead of leaving, like his brain was insisting that he do, he quirked an eyebrow and folded his arms. "And what seems to be the problem here?"

"Hermione here refuses to get into bed Professor", spoke the exasperated medi-witch. Hermione glared daggers at her, crossing her arms in much the same way as Snape himself. He noticed that there was a bandage tied onto her right wrist and he wondered how she had hurt herself. A twinge of concern passed through him but he quickly brushed it away. He didn't care after all.

Snape knew that the school nurse had an awful tendency to mother her patients and require them to stay in the wing much longer than need actually be, he had first hand experience of this, and experience also told him not to interfere. But he had to admit to himself that he was quite enjoying this, watching the girl who had annoyed him so much recently looking ready to murder someone.

He nodded his head sincerely as he listening to the woman rant on, somehow managing to suppress a smile.

"Well Miss Granger", he said when the room was finally quiet, "I suggest that you make your way back to the bed right now".

"But -", she began to protest.

"Five points from Gryffindor for disobedience" he sneered. Hermione glared angrily at him but remained standing, making no move towards the bed. This was rather fun. Drawing himself up to his full height he glared down at her.

"Do I have to _put_ you to bed, Miss Granger?", he asked her threateningly. Hermione's eyes widened in shock slightly before she shook her head and slowly clambered back onto the hospital cot, muttering something under her breath.

"Thank you for the potions Severus", said the now satisfied Madam Pomfrey, turning to give Hermione a glare before she left the room. They walked back to her office together and Snape gave her a curt nod as he turned to leave. He was just at the door when he looked back over his shoulder and spoke to the witch.

"Why is Miss Granger in the hospital wing? She missed my potions test today".

"She had a panic attack and passed out in her first afternoon class. I wish to keep her under supervision for the night", she said. "Oh!" she exclaimed, looking over Snape's shoulders to where a young boy was being dragged in by his friend's, vomiting what looked like large grapes, and immediately rushing out to help the boy onto a hospital bed.

Snape stepped out of the open door and proceeded to walk back to his whisky and books. By God he was glad that he didn't have kids.

* * *

><p>A quick glance around the library told Harry and Ron that Hermione wasn't there, and both boys looked frustrated.<p>

"Where the blazes is she?" said Ron, moving about one of the library chairs as if he expected to find her hiding underneath the desk.

"Damned if I know".

"How can she not be here? She's always here!", he exclaimed.

Madame Pince immediately stormed over to them. "If you do not quiet down, then I shall be forced to tell you to leave right this very minute", she hissed at them.

Ron and Harry looked around the near empty library. "But there's no one even here -" began Ron, before a murderous glare from the old librarian cut him short.

"We're just going", said Harry. "You haven't seen Hermione Granger have you?", he asked her.

"She was in here this afternoon during lunch, and then she shot off. Haven't seen her since", she huffed, waving her hand at them to shoo them out of the library.

"Maybe she'll be at dinner" said Ron, watching as the librarian sat down at her desk and eyed them suspiciously over the rim of her teacup. "Common, lets go. I hope they've got some more of that chicken", he said, walking out of the library and in the direction of the Great Hall. "I can smell chicken..."


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione sat upright in bed, arms crossed with a distinctively un-Hermione like snarl on her face. She wanted to get down to the library, back to her books and back to any resemblance of normalcy. But Madame Pomfrey had not only insisted that she stay the day in the infirmary, but the rest of the night too.

Hermione had kicked up a fuss when the old woman had scuttled in and told her to get back into bed. She clearly felt fine, she looked fine, so what was the old codger so worried about? She had vehemently refused to stay in the infirmary. She was clearly losing her brain and she either wanted to find a way to solve it or be alone whilst it happened.

She sighed at her own impatience. A part of her brain couldn't believe how disrespectful she had been to the medi-witch, standing and shouting at her in the middle of her infirmary, that _wasn't_ Hermione. But another part, a significantly larger part, thought simply 'stuff it'. She would not let it go, it was completely unreasonable for Madame Pomfrey to keep her here when she was obviously fine. _Why was she getting so wound up today over the smallest things?_ She sighed again, frustrated beyond measure.

Hermione had debated telling the witch about her sudden memory loss, but had decided against it. Telling her would mean telling her about spending the night on Snape's sofa, something which she definitely did not want anyone else knowing. And anyway, what was she supposed to say? _Madame Pomfrey, I can't remember falling asleep in front of my potions professor and also I forgot how to tie my shoe laces, but don't worry, I remember fine now._ No, she would not be saying anything to that woman, who would probably send her straight to St Mungo's in a straightjacket.

Hermione frowned. Something was definitely happening to her though, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Even the fact that she had thrown a tempter-tantrum was very uncharacteristic of her. Could she blame it on the stress of the situation, a result rather than a symptom?

She only wished that she could throw on some clothes and head back down to the library. There must have been something that she'd missed earlier and she was sure that if she looked hard enough she would find the answer. That was how it normally worked. But she was stuck here, in this damned hospital wing.

_Damn Madame Pomfrey_

_Damn Snape_

What we he doing sticking his big nose in anyway? Shouldn't he be in his dungeons brewing over a cauldron and cackling like some large overgrown witch, swathed in black. Perhaps he slept in a coffin. Maybe his familiar was a bat. Maybe he was a warebat. Hermione snorted. She had no idea where these utterly absurd ideas were coming from. Despite the fact that Snape could be a mean piece of work at times, she had always respected the man.

_Stop it Hermione!_ she chided herself as she tried to picture Snape sprouting large leathery wings. Still though the idea of her potions master flying out of the window was enough to make her chuckle, and lift her mood ever so slightly, although it came crashing down again when Madame Pomfrey decided to concern herself with Hermione yet again.

The elderly witch handed her a vial of a grey substance, that looked almost half gas, half liquid, as it swirled in the light.

"Drink this", she ordered. Hermione frowned. She knew what it was. Dreamless sleep.

"Stop frowning child", Madame Pomfrey scolded, "it is most unbecoming of you and will give you wrinkles".

Still Hermione eyed her with suspicion, before finally taking the vial and uncapping it. She threw it down her throat in one, her narrowed eyes never leaving the medi-witch's. Madame Pomfrey gave a curt nod of satisfaction and took the vial back.

"That wasn't so hard now was it?" she said patronisingly. Hermione might have become more annoyed by this, but immediately she felt the crashing weight of tiredness as it settled upon her limbs, and her eyelids softly drooped. She could just make out the nurse picking up - _were they grapes?_ before she finally succumbed to the potion and let sleep overcome her.

* * *

><p>The fire popped and crackled in a most cheerful way, and Snape settled into an armchair, letting the warmth caress his face. In one hand he held an old and slightly battered potions text, in the other, a glass of equally old scotch. There was not a student, an essay, or a Longbottom in sight. <em>This. Is. Brilliant<em> Snape thought to himself.

He had taken off his long teachers robes and frock coat, and had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, to show a pair of surprisingly muscular forearms. The tendons in them tensed against his pale skin as he brought the glass to his lips, and let the silky amber liquid slide down his throat. He sighed deeply in satisfaction and slumped further back into the leather embrace of the chair.

The dark mark on his skin seemed almost as if it repelled the light and warmth from the fire, instead remaining cool to the touch. Snape did not notice though. There had been a meeting only a couple of nights ago and it was not customary for the Dark Lord to call another one so shortly. Snape did not therefore worry that he would feel the twinge and burning call of the mark tonight, and for that he was glad. He needed this.

He closed his eyes to bask in the warmth of the fire, like some overgrown cat. This is what he lived for. A quiet evening in with a book and good glass of scotch. But something was off this evening, as if he had forgotten something. It nagged at his chest and he felt restless, despite his ever growing tiredness. He had left his classroom spotless as always, he had no detentions lined up for that evening and no night time patrols schedules in. What was nagging at him?

He grimaced as the face of Hermione Granger came to the forefront of his mind. Damned child. Who did she think she was? Invading his pleasant night like this. Although he knew that he was being entirely irrational, it was _him_ thinking of _her_ after all, he still bristled in annoyance. Yes, he would admit to himself, if not begrudgingly, that he had almost enjoyed last night. 'Almost' being the operative word.

She had seemed to vulnerable and he, Severus Snape, had wanted to protect the little girl that slept ever so sweetly on his sofa. And again in the hospital wing, he had felt a pang of solicitous concern for the girl, looking so small in the hospital pajamas next to the tall and gangly Madame Pomfrey, even if she was shouting blue murder at her.

He had not wanted to protect anyone since he had last left Hogwarts, and he had to admit that protecting someone required a certain amount of them _needing_ protection. Maybe it was just this fact that someone needed him for once, _actually_ needed him, rather than simply being in need of a spy, that he had liked. That must be it. It had nothing to do with the girl herself, more so the fact of being needed. But then why did he care if the girl had hurt herself and ended up in the hospital wing? Why should he care if she was still up there?

Snape mentally scolded himself. This was his night. Not Hermione Granger's. Not the Dark Lord's. Not Albus's, _his_ and no one was going to disturb that. He drank down the rest of the scotch, stood up and stretched out his aching muscles. A wash of drowsiness passed over him and he snapped shut the book he had been trying, unsuccessfully, to read.

It seemed ever such a shame to finally have a night to himself and to spend it sleeping, but the exertion and constant vigilance of being not just a double spy, but also trying to stop his students from blowing themselves up on a daily basis, took its tole. He fished in his robe pockets and pulled out a vial of freshly brewed dreamless sleep that he had taken from the infirmary. He did not feel bad at having took it, even if technically it no longer belonged to him. The little critters had less worries that him and besides, it was he who had brewed it, not them.

Unstoppering it, he washed the potion down and made his way to his bedroom. He yanked at his shirt and threw it to the floor, but got no further, and collapsed onto the bed still half dressed. He did not care. His eyes were shut closed before his head even touched the pillow.

* * *

><p>During the course of the night, Ellen Gough from Slytherin had entered with a violent purple rash from a reaction to one of the Weasley Brother's 'jokes'. Seamus Finnigan had somehow managed to get his nose hexed off and Peter Scruddle from Hufflepuff had entered sometime around midnight, having a some sort of sneezing fit. But Hermione saw none of her new room mates in the hospital wing. She was sound asleep thanks to the vial of Dreamless Sleep than Madame Pomfrey had given her.<p>

The violent sneezing had now stopped, and all that could be heard was the whistle of air as Seamus's nose began to grown back, and the soft snore of the purple rash girl. The light that glowed from under Madame Pomfrey's door, escaping into the darkness of the infirmary, soon dimmed and the room was plunged into a heavy darkness.

When Hermione opened her eyes she thought for a minute that she was still asleep, or at least in some dark hole, before her eyes grew accustomed to her surroundings. Sitting up in bed she could just see the dark silhouette or the person in the next bed, their chest rising and falling rhythmically, expelling small puffs of air.

Hermione was frightened, and her hands grabbed for dear life at the sheets. She brought them up over her head, scooting her body further down into the bed, listening intently. Her mind began to conjure up small sounds, a creak here, a footstep there. Her vivid imagination created disturbing images to match the sounds and she whimpered.

She could hear the monster under the bed, it's lungs gurgling and its lips slapping wetly together. It was waiting for her to place her feet down, before it grabbed her with its overgrown and dirt encrusted nails and pulled her into its unhinged jaw.

There were footsteps that grew ever nearer. She could feel the man getting closer and could swear that she could smell his rancid breath through the sheets and the crisp metallic smell of his knife as he brought it ever closer to her throat.

Hermione whimpered again and wriggled her way even further down into the bed, her face now wet with tears and her breath coming out in uneven little pants as she tried to stop herself from making a sound. They would hear her. She put a hand across her mouth and forced down the scream that was threatening to force out of her. She knew that if she took her hand away it would be like unstoppering a champaign bottle, and she would _pop_, just like that.

Where were mummy and daddy? Normally she could hear them from the next room. If it wasn't too late sometimes the sounds from the TV would float up from the living room, or she would hear the soft murmur of words as they spoke lovingly to each other, laughing quietly.

Sometimes she woke very late at night though. Her parent's had bought her a light up clock for her fifth birthday and Hermione could already read the time. That was how she would know that it was the middle of the night. She would stay very still and listen very hard, and she could just make out daddy's snoring from the other room, and she would lay, content, clutching at the clock and the light that made the darkness jump away, and slowly her eyes would close and sleep would reclaim her.

Not here though. She could hear someone quietly snoring, but it wasn't her fathers. Nonetheless, she tried to focus on the snore. In and out. In and out, until she could no longer hear the footsteps and the gurgling and the crack of rotten bones. Very slowly she pulled the cover from her head and brought them down, still covering her nose, and peeked out.

There was no man ready to snatch her from her soft bed, no monster in the next bed, no demon at the door. Breathing a sigh of relief she brought the covers down lower until they were bunched up under her chin. She wanted to cry out. She wanted the lights to be turned on. She wanted a warm glass of milk and a hug and a kiss. But the darkness still pressed around.

There was only one thing to do, and it certainly wasn't staying in this room. '_You can do it. You can do it_', she repeated to herself in a silent mantra, before pushing the covers completely off her pyjama clad body and lowering her feet off the side of the bed. She launched herself off the side with her arms, just in case there was something under the bed that could have grabbed her, but nothing came.

Her bare feet sounded with a soft slap against the cold tiled floor as she landed, and sent a chill up her body as soon as she touched it. Tiptoeing to the main door, she could see that it was not fully closed, and a chink of yellow light stole through the gap. To Hermione, it was beautiful. And it led the way. To where, she was not sure, but she knew to she had to follow it. The dark held all manner of strange creatures. The light was safe. No one could harm her in the light.

Slipping a finger into the crack in the door, she pulled. It did not creak and she slipped out smoothly and quickly without a backwards glance.

* * *

><p>How she had managed to find her way to the dungeon staircase, she was not quite sure, but she recognised its twists and turns from when she had gone the other night. But there had been two other people with her then. They were nice and they had held her hand, even when she had gotten scared.<p>

It was dark here though and she was alone. Peering down the stone steps she could make out nothing but darkness. There could be something down there waiting. Perhaps it had tricked her. She squealed and ran backwards to hide behind a stone statue. Waiting. But no one came. Cautiously she poked her head out around the statute, her knuckles white in the moonlight. Still no one walked from the black depths, no footsteps slapped against the cold floor. No one was coming for her.

Hermione started her mantra once again. '_You can do it. You can do it_'. She steadied herself and drew in a deep breath, before stepping onto the first step of the stairway. There was a sound of a door closing far away in the direction of the Great Hall, and Hermione squealed, and pelted down the stairs as fast as she could, nearly tripping as her foot moved in front of her and she realised that there were no more steps.

Flames roared from their torches on the wall, and despite the fact that their welcoming light did not quite reach the corners of the dungeon, Hermione knew that as long as she stayed in the path of light, she would be okay. She was so close now anyway.

She recognised the door and pushed it open without a sound. Making her way across the room, she looked around nervously. Large black shapes stood on top of tables. Were they going to pounce? She stopped in her tracks and looked nervously around. She was surrounded. But they didn't move. Perhaps they are asleep, she thought to herself.

Running the rest of the way she quickly crossed the room to stand in front of the large black door. Hermione was overjoyed. She had made it!. She knocked politely on the door, hopping from foot to foot. She was safe! Mr Sir would look after her! There was no noise from beyond and Hermione frowned, knocking harder on the door. Still nothing.

She brought her hand up to knock again when suddenly the lights in the corridor dimmed and went out, throwing the room into total blackness. She screamed as her vision was completely shut down. She could see nothing, even when she brought her hand up to her nose.

Were the creatures still sleeping? What if she crashed into something and woke them up? _'I should have stayed in bed_' she whispered to herself, tears sliding down her cheeks, and dripping from her nose into her hands.

As she slid down on to the floor, back against the door, she realised something: She was trapped.

Mr Sir would not come to the door. She could not cross the room. She would have to stay put. Clasping her hands in her lap she waited, before her eyelids closed and she slumped down on to the floor, twitching and jerking restlessly as she slept.

* * *

><p>Snape's eyes flickered open, heavy with sleep. He had heard a scream. It was a woman's. His mind was still fogged and already he was sure that the scream had not been real. He sighed, dropping his head back to the pillow.<p>

* * *

><p>Despite the fact it was a Saturday, Snape was still up early. At five am to be exact.<p>

He had woken up, surprised to see that he was still wearing his trousers, but he felt bright and alert and actually in a good mood for once. Granted, his neck ached a little from where he had slept awkwardly, but apart from that, the day was looking to be a good one. He had promised Poppy that he would restock the infirmary's potions cabinet and had also agreed to help Filius with a new charm he was creating. For once, he actually felt that he might have the patience for both of those tasks.

Taking a quick shower he pulled on fresh trousers and shirt. It was still very early in the morning on a Saturday and he knew that no one, teachers alike, would be up for hours yet. He decided to leave off his frock coat and teaching robes and instead shrugged on his overcoat before making his way outside to take a brief walk in the crisp morning.

Striding down the hall he pulled open the door and immediately stopped short. There, lying on the floor directly outside his office, was none other than Hermione Granger. Her hair was thrown over her face as she had curled into a ball on the cold stone floor. Her feet were bare and all that she wore were the thin infirmary pyjamas. Snape's first thought was worry. The dungeons got awfully cold at night and he was cautious that her core temperature might have dropped, leaving her with a cold, or worse.

In the split second that his worry had come about, it had quickly been banished in place of irritation and annoyance. Why was this damned girl asleep on _his_ doorstep, of all the ruddy places in this castle? And why even was he actually worrying about her? He did not worry about _anyone_, students included. Hermione was no exception.

Hermione.

He studied the girl lying in front of him. It wasn't the hand waving know-it-all. It wasn't the irrational and angry woman in the infirmary. She wasn't Potter and Weasley's annoying friend. This wasn't Granger.

It was Hermione.

Vulnerable, sweet, charming Hermione.

Hitching up his trousers, Snape knelt down next to her, placing a large hand over her small one. It was freezing cold. He did the same to her feet, his hands easily encircling them. Her toes were in the same sorry state as her fingers. Pulling out his wand he cast a warming spell over her, checking to make sure that it had worked, and letting out a sigh of relief as he felt her skin beginning to warm.

He picked up his wand from where he had dropped it beside him to levitate her back to the infirmary, but something stopped him. They were alone, and when was the last time that he had felt actual human contact? Of course he had lifted her to deposit her on his sofa, but that had been only for a second, and that second had not lasted long enough.

* * *

><p><em>"Lilly, be careful!" Severus yelled, watching as she clambered higher into the tree. He took a step back nervously, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.<em>

_"Sev, I'm fine! I've done this a million times before!" she shouted back down. Severus could just make out her form perched high above him on a spindly branch. He smiled as he watched her start to fill her bag with acorns, reaching precariously for branches around her, swaying ever so slightly on her own._

_It had seemed like forever since they had last done this. Three years at Hogwarts had passed by so quickly, but standing here now, with her, felt like time hadn't moved on at all._

_He missed her deeply whilst at school even though she was only a table away from him. He had watched her as she laughed with her new Gryffindor friends and he had wished beyond anything that she still laughed with him._

_At first they had hung out, but slowly it seemed that they were drifting apart. No longer did she answer back to his owls immediately, no longer did she actively seek him out in the library._

_But one summer morning after returning home for the holidays, she was there, standing at his door, asking him to come out and play. His heart had sung for joy. She _did_ still want him. She _hadn't_ abandoned him. He had quickly grabbed his jacket and somehow everything had seemed, well, normal again._

_And now here they were, clambering up trees, bathing in the lake, laughing as they picked up fallen tree branches and played fake games of Quidditch._

_As he watched Lilly zip up her bag and begin to clamber down the tree, he wondered if this was what love felt like - as if his heart had become too big for his chest, as if he couldn't help but smile. He imagined that one day they might marry. She would be beautiful and he would smile for the rest of his life._

_Lilly Snape. _

_He grinned. Maybe life would turn out okay after all._

_Suddenly there was a strangled yelp from above him, a rustle of leaves and then a soft thump. Severus immediately rushed forward, his heart beating loudly._

_"Ow. Ow", Lilly moaned, lying on a sprawling heap on the ground. Severus immediately rushed to her side, kneeling to look at her with his eyes wide and frightened._

_"Lilly? Lil? Are you okay"_

_She grimaced and sat up, rubbing her head. "I think I'm fine, just lost my footing on that last branch is all" she said, pulling the bag of squashed acorns out from underneath her. Severus sighed in relief. He didn't think he had ever been so scared in his life. Not even when he had been pushed into the Forbidden Forest by his 'friends' in his first year in the middle of the night, not even when his Dad had stormed into his room demanding to know where his Mother was._

_Lilly pulled herself off the ground but then cried out in pain. "I think I've done something to my leg" she said, clutching at her right knee. Severus gulped. What should he do? He pulled his wand from his back pocket and looked at her leg. He had seen Madame Pomfrey do this and he was sure he knew the spell._

_"Severus! No! You could get expelled!" exclaimed Lilly suddenly when she realised what he was planning. She placed a hand gently on his forearm. "We'll have to go back to my parents but I think you'll have to carry me"._

_Immediately his mouth went parchment dry. Carry her? How could he do that? "Severus please" said Lilly again, her face twisted in pain._

_"Okay" he whispered and moved closer towards her. He could smell her hair and he knew she was watching him as he surveyed her body. With a gulp he slid his arms under her knees and behind her back and lifted her up, cradling her to him. She sighed and rested her head onto his chest._

_Severus began to walk, as slow a pace as he could. He had never been so close to her before, and he never wanted this to stop. He was sure that she would be able to hear his heart pounding, but there was just no way to stop it. There was no doubt about it - he loved her. More than anything else in the entire world. Should he tell her?_

_He imagined saying those three words to her. "Lilly, I love you". And then she would look up at him with those lovely green eyes and she would say. "I'm so glad you told me Severus, because I love you too", and then she would reach up to his face and kiss him squarely on his lips._

_"Lilly" he whispered nervously to her, "I-"_

_"Lilly dear what on earth happened!?" came her mothers voice as she ran from the kitchen. "Petunia, go get you father" she yelled over her shoulder as she rushed forward._

_"I'm fine mum, just fell out of a tree and hurt my leg". Severus squirmed nervously. He was still holding her in his arms, but he felt distinctively uncomfortable being there with her family surrounding him and her, confessions of love still hanging on his lips._

_"What have you done now girl?" came the deep baritone voice of her father as he emerged from the kitchen, closely followed by Lilly's sister, a thin spindly girl with a constant sour expression on her face. Lilly rolled her eyes and laughed._

_"Fell out of a tree Dad" she said._

_"Well that was stupid" said her father, but he laughed. "Thank you Severus, I'll take it from here" he said as he approached him and took Lilly from his arms. In that second it was as if his heart had been torn away from him, and his arms hung empty for a moment, a gaping hole where her body had been._

_"Thank you Sev!" Lilly called back to him as her father took her into the kitchen. "I'll see you soon". He nodded, scared that if he talked, for some reason he would cry. Lilly's mother smiled at him and he gave her a small nod too, turning around to walk back home. Alone_

* * *

><p>An internal battle was raging within Snape. She was still his student. It would be highly inappropriate to pick her up, when levitating her was so easy, but she seemed so small, so cold. In that moment he decided.<p>

He placed his arms under the shoulders and legs and lifted her with ease. Her hair fell lightly across her face and he resisted the urge to brush it aside. As he carefully shifted her weight, her head fell against his chest and she stirred ever so slightly, trying to push herself further towards him, snuggling up against his warm body.

Snape was shocked - that she would want to touch him. No body _ever_ wanted to touch him. But even more shocked that he had _let_ himself be touched. People didn't get close to him. Emotionally or physically. But the girl in his arms was decidedly pulling closer to him, no doubt seeking only warmth, rather than Snape himself, but still - it was something.

* * *

><p>He laid her down on the sofa that she had spent the previous night on and moved to sit in his armchair. It was strange that the girl should remind him of Lilly. Granted, they were both headstrong, independent, clever, but Lilly was charming, something which Granger definitely was not. Lilly too was a gentle soul, but Granger was brash, in your face. Their physical differences were even more apparent. Lilly's hair had flowed softly down her back, golden red, and she had been tall and elegant.<p>

Snape studied Hermione. Her hair was a caramel brown and certainly was not soft, instead an impenetrable mass of curls which looked as though she hadn't brushed it in a week. Her skin was pale like Lilly's, and he noticed for the first time that she had the same delicate smattering of freckles over her nose too. But she lacked the willowy grace of Lilly. The top of her head barely even reached his shoulder and she strode everywhere with a such a purposeful stride that Snape wondered if she had somewhere to be every minute of the day.

No, Hermione Granger was definitely not Lilly. But then no comparison really needed to be drawn. There was no romantic attraction, no urgent longing, but instead a protective instinct, a feeling that he _wanted_ her to _need_ him, not a feeling that he _wanted_ her.

He watched as a strand of hair slipped from behind her ear and fell onto her face, steadily lifting and falling as she breathed in and out. _Why was she here?_ What could possibly have made her leave the infirmary, walk to the dungeons and fall asleep on the door step of his office? Perhaps she had sleepwalked, although having patrolled the castle for almost two decades now, it was always apparent to him those students who did so, and he knew that Hermione was not one of them.

Severus Snape was not one to believe in coincidences, but it was hard to shake the feeling that her actions had something to do with the previous night. Had the anti-potion not been strong enough? Was he wrong about the trick chocolates? He hardly thought so; they were, after all, merely a playful prank performed by members of his own house. But then why was she here? And why was he _happy_ about her being here?

Maybe it was the fact that for once he had woken up feeling refreshed, and although he knew that he should be more concerned as to why the anti-potion had evidently not worked, a part of him was glad that she was here again. He could not really say why. He had friends at the castle, and he got along well with the rest of the teachers, but there was something about the fact that she had exclusively come to him above everyone else. It quelled a loneliness which Snape didn't even realised that he had.

He wondered whether he should wake her up, but he wasn't sure whether he would find himself talking to Granger or Hermione, and he was pretty sure that the former could easily ruin his day within a single minute. Deciding that he should simply let her sleep he got up and shrugged on his black robe. At some point she would wake up, and when she did, he had to make sure that she was not here. He was sure that he had already aroused suspicion in her by the fact that he hadn't sent her packing the last time she had dropped in on him. _She may be annoying, but she isn't stupid, and sooner or later she'll start to ask questions _he thought.

As before, he made the conscious decision not to inform her of this second visit to his chambers. Potter and Weasley seemed more than concerned for her welfare, and even though he viewed them both as complete dunderheads, he knew that they would keep her safe. _Maybe he should let them know though_ he thought to himself, it would be no good to have her running amok through the castle every night, especially if another teacher was to find her.

But no, the thought of _him_ going to those fools for help in keeping her safe was simply preposterous. For now, he would keep it to himself, at least until her conditions either progressed or abated.

* * *

><p>It was still early in the morning but Snape elected to use the internal school floo network. It would not do to have anybody, student or teacher alike, coming across him with Hermione Granger in his arms. He stepped out into the infirmary, relieved to see that the door to the medi-witches chambers were still closed.<p>

He walked to the bed which he had seen Hermione in earlier and carefully laid her down, pulling the white cotton sheets over her sleeping form. Still she did not wake and Snape sat down gently on the side of the bed. It creaked slightly under his weight but otherwise there was silence.

He was not sure what made him do it but he brought up a hand and slowly laid it on her face, brushing back her air behind her ears and stroking her cheek with a long thumb. Her skin was incredibly smooth under his hands and cool to the touch. For the first time he realised that just because she wasn't Lilly, that didn't make her any less beautiful. Because that is what she was. How had he not seen that before?

Snape watched her for a few moment longer, searching her face with a penetrating gaze. Of course, finding a student attractive was entirely inappropriate, and although it was not something unheard of, he would rather that this not be the case. He frowned and searched her face for flaws, trying hard to find the annoying Granger who he had now known for the past seven years, but as if on really _seeing_ her for the first time, now he simply could not _unsee_ her. He watched her eyelids flutter as precarious as a butterfly landing on a flower. He watched her lips silently open and close. He counted the freckles splayed across her nose. 34. He listened to her delicate breath.

Eventually he stood, confused by his own emotions. He wanted to protect the girl and he had begun to feel something towards actually caring for her. But now his appreciation of her beauty had turned the whole situation into something more. There was no doubt in his mind that he felt no romantic attachment towards the girl - that would just be wrong, but it worried him that he was actually beginning to enjoy her company, at least the induced Hermione's company. Was the thumping of his heart out of nervous concern, or something more?

He sighed and passed a hand through his hair. He preferred being angry all the time to this.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione awoke with a start, having the distinction sensation of being weightless. Her eyes snapped open as she surveyed her surroundings.

Nothing was amiss.

Morning light streamed through the high infirmary windows, casting butter yellow pools on the floor, warming the tiles beneath. There was an almost dream like quality to the image around her, and the scene felt impossibly serene.

Hermione noted the few extra patients that had joined the infirmary over night, all still sleeping peacefully. She almost laughed as her eyes landed on Seamus Finnigan, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for getting himself blown up. His nose appeared to have grown back, although the purple shadows around his eyes clearly indicated his unfortunate mishap.

Hermione sighed and lowered herself back down to the pillows. A ray of the new morning sunlight caught the edge of her bed and she closed her eyes, feeling the gentle warmth on her skin.

_What a strange dream I had._

She had been running away from something, something that hid in the darkness, a darkness so black it was never ending, a void to the heart of death himself. Silky tendrils had snaked ever closer to her, twisting along the floor and clutching at her heels as she ran.

But there was a white light in the distance, a beacon of hope, and she sprinted with all her might to it, breath ragged. But the closer she got, the smaller the light became, until it was just a pinprick, its luminescence being eaten away by the ever consuming darkness. Then suddenly the tiny hole of light had become a black beady eye that had opened and stared at her curiously, before turning into a large grey bat.

Despite being much larger than her, Hermione could distinctly remember a feeling of safety and of trust. The dream was beginning to fade but she could remember the bat advancing towards her and picking her up with its mighty talons. Hermione reckoned that this was the reason for her feeling of weightlessness, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember the rest of the dream.

* * *

><p>Hermione did not realise that she had fallen back to sleep, until she was awakened again by a kind but firm hand on her shoulder. Opening her eyes she looked straight into the steel blue pair of Madame Pomfrey's.<p>

"What time is it?", she croaked groggily, pushing herself up.

"It is ten o'clock Miss Granger. With it being Saturday I have allowed you to sleep in but I feel it is about time for you to get up now. As Bathilda Pobblecock always said, 'a sleeping witch is a useless witch'", said Madame Pomfrey, one hand clutched around a bottle of skelegrow, a reproachful look on her face.

"Ten!" exclaimed Hermione. She normally never slept past seven, even on a weekend. She had no idea why she was suddenly so tired. It was as though she hadn't slept at all. Madame Pomfrey was staring at Hermione with a mix of exasperation and concern.

"Is something the matter child?", she asked Hermione, who was still aghast at the time. "Hermione dear!", she clicked her fingers in front of the young girls face, who jumped, startled.

"I'm sorry Madame Pomfrey, what was it that you wanted?"

The elderly witch let out a snort of annoyance. "I asked if everything was okay - or will that result in me getting screamed at for trying to help again?", she asked without even waiting for an answer as she moved onto the next bed. "Well?" she asked impatiently, looking over her shoulder at Hermione. Hermione merely shook her head and mumbled something quite incomprehensible. "In that case you are discharged then Miss Granger".

Hermione threw a vindictive look at the elderly witch's turned back and reached to gather her things.

* * *

><p>Arriving back in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione quietly snuck up the stairs to the girls dormitory. She had made it this far without bumping into any friends and whilst she knew her hair was not particularly tame at the best of times, right now it looked as if she had a brown Crookshanks perched on her head. She opened the door to find all of her dorm mates still sleeping, the curtains drawn across all of their beds but hers. They probably hadn't even noticed her absence.<p>

Grabbing a towel for the chair by her bed she moved into the girl's bathroom. As reproachful as she was by what she considered laziness by her sleeping peers, she was silently grateful for the empty bathroom. Stripping her blouse and skirt off, Hermione turned on the faucets and waited for the water to heat up. In no time the steam began to swirl around the room in hurried circles, crashing into any cold surface it could find in a flurry of water droplets.

Hermione watched, fascinated by the spectrum of colours that hung on the edge of the droplets, creating a rainbow in the eddying mist, shifting and undulating. She did not know how long her gaze lingered for, but she was finally drawn back to reality by a loud clanking in the pipe works. With a sigh she undid the clasp of her bra and pulled off her underwear and stepped under the hot water. Hermione let out a small groan as muscles which until now she had not realised were aching loosened, and she wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kneading at the hard muscles of her back with her knuckles.

The water sloshed down around her, but distantly she heard movement in the bedroom, and realised that her indulgent shower time was being drawn short; any moment now Paravati or Lavendar would flounce into the bathroom and start talking about boys, or even worse, other girls in their year. Hermione quickly reached for the soap and began to lather it in her hands, washing herself and every so often casting a furtive glance to the still closed bathroom door.

Finally she had lathered all her body and she grabbed a sponge to wash between her toes. She frowned when the sponge came away black. Picking up her foot she rested it on top of her opposite leg and realised that her feet were plastered with dirt, the kind that you get from walking around barefoot. _What on earth?_

For not the first time in the last twenty fours, Hermione was confused. She had not been anywhere with no shoes on, and she was pretty sure that her socks had not caused her feet to look like this. She contemplated for a moment that she might have slept walk but dismissed the idea entirely. All her life her parents had commented what a silent sleeper she was, and even if her body had decided to go on some sort of night time wander, Madam Pomfrey would surely have noticed.

Struggling on one leg, she furiously tired to scrub away the black grime, swaying precariously. The exertion finally got the better of her, and she wobbled slightly and then fell unbalanced to the floor, knocking her head against the edge of the steels taps.

'Ow', she groaned, putting a hand to her sore head. When she brought it away she saw blood shining on her fingertips, mingling with the water that still gushed from the shower.

There was no way she was going back to Madame Pomfrey, who would probably want to keep her in for observance for a week for the small cut. No she would fix it herself, and well, there was worst things in this world than a concussion.

* * *

><p>Snape had stalked around the castle gardens before finally coming to a stop in front of the great lake. Its surface had begun to frost over, the icy water cracking together in a delicate intricacy. Thin veins streaked across the frozen surface, breaking into a hundred brittle shards as it reached the wooden platform at the centre of the lake, left over from the Triwizard Tornament.<p>

The air was bitterly cold but clean and fresh, and the winter sun, whilst not really providing any warmth, shone down and lit up the ice crystals that hung in fragile sways from the grass and hedges.

Snape pulled out his wand and cast a warming spell over himself, taking a seat on a fallen tree trunk that sprawled haphazard, yet perfectly positioned, at the waters edge.

_'Hey Snivelus, whatcha doing', Sirius Black drawled as he made his way over to where Snape sat by the lake. Kicking at the gravel so that it hit the boys back, his friends laughed. Severus kept his head down, letting his lank black hair fall across his face. He would not cry. They could not touch him._

_This time is was Potter's turn. His hand shot out from behind Severus, stealing the book from out of his hand. 'Potions of Barbaria by Sampore Sandore', James Potter read aloud in a mock studious voice. Snapping it shut he walked round to face Snape, glowering at him, a malicious look settled in his bright green eyes._

_'Does Snivelus Snapey want his snivelly little book back?', he questioned, holding the book to the boy. Severus reached out to grab it but James laughed, moving the book quickly away._

_'Now now, didn't your filthy mother teach you it's rude to snatch'._

_'Give it back', Snape said, his voice low and quiet._

_'What was that Snivy, speak up so we can all hear you', taunted Remus Lupin, who had now moved round to stand next to James._

_'I said give it back'._

_'Okay, sure thing Snivy', said James, walking towards him, his arm outstretched._

_Severus couldn't believe it. He had stood his ground and they were going to give him his possession back. He praised himself in his mind, allowing himself a moment of happiness._

_The book was nearly in his hands when James turned and launched the book into the air, only for it to land with a sullen 'plop' in the lake._

_The three boys turned and stalked off, laughing loudly as they did so, a little rat of a boy following behind them._

_"Come Wormtail", one of them called._

_Only once they had rounded the bend did Severus let his tears fall freely, gushing hot from his sad black eyes. They dripped from his nose and fell to the floor, like the new rain in spring._

The warming charm was fading and Snape felt the hairs on his arm stand to attention. He suppressed a shiver not just brought about by the cold.

He did not cast another warming charm. Pain and coldness and hurt were his life. How he could ever have thought that he stood a chance at happiness was beyond him, and the warm feeling in his chest dissipated when he realised what a fool he had been to entertain such foolish notions of his student, anyone, actually needing him. He was a nobody.

Wrapping his arms around his body he made his way back to the castle.

* * *

><p>Hermione only just made breakfast, managing to slide in between Harry and Ron to grab a slice of toast and a rasher of bacon. She munched on the food quietly, lost deep in thought. She didn't even notice when Ron slyly reached out a hand and stole a piece of her bacon. Nor did she notice Harry calling her name, until he waved his hand across her face.<p>

The piece of toast had gone cold in her hand as she was startled from her day dream.

"Sorry Harry", she said tiredly, 'I guess I'm just not with it today'.

"Don't worry 'Mione", endeared Ron, 'I'm not with it any day of the week'. His mouth was full of the mushed up remains of Hermione's bacon and she made a face at him.

'That's true Ron' she said, picking at the piece of cold toast.

"Oi!" he exclaimed, "you're supposed to say 'Ron, whatever could you possibly mean. You are utterly brilliant and fantastic and, and...', Ron struggled to find the word.

'Eloquent?', suggested Hermione, laughing and momentarily forgetting her worries. Ron and Harry laughed too, shovelling the remainders of their breakfast into the mouths.

"Hello", came a dreamy voice from behind them, and they turned to find Luna Lovegood approaching, her long blonde hair swaying as she hummed a short tune to herself.

"Hi Luna", they all chanted in unison, which set them off laughing again.

Luna merely smiled. She knew well enough when she was on the laughing end of a joke and as this was not one of those times she merely politely waited for the noise to die down.

On her head was perched a giant paper mache lion which had been cleverly charmed to blink its paper eyelids and emit a loud roar every once in a while, much to the startled surprise of a number of first year Hufflepuffs sitting at the table opposite. Ron's eyes flickered up to it in disbelief and he almost choked on his toast.

"Good luck for your match today", she said to the boys and then turned to Hermione. "Hermione, do you wish to join me and Neville in the stands? I can make you a lions head if you wish".

At this the three were nearly set off laughing again, but instead Hermione contained herself and let a well intention smile cross her face, reaching her eyes and making them twinkle. "Thanks Luna, I might just take up your offer to join you. Mind if I come and find you later? I have some homework to be doing before I go down".

Luna nodded and smiled a curious smile at her three friends before turning to leave.

"Oh Hermione", she said, turning back "your head is fully of poppywoggles, they're flying out of your nostrils and ears". She frowned. "You really should get it sorted". She turned away again as the lions head let out a huge roar and shook its paper mache fur.

As soon as she was out of ear shot, Harry, Ron and Hermione roared with laughter, pounding their fists on the table, tears sliding down their cheeks, scaring away a number of first years with their loud guffawing. Wiping away a tear from her face when she had finally managed to stop, Hermione smiled at her two best friends. _  
><em>

"Bloody hell did you see that lion!" said Ron, knocking a thumb in the direction that Luna had just left from. Hermione gave him a push.

"Ronald don't be mean"

"I'm not Hermione! But c'mon, did you _see _that thing? And what the hell are poppywoggles?!" Hermione gave him another slap on the arm but remaining grinning.

"Stop it" she chided him rolling her eyes. "Harry, think you can catch that snitch soon today, it looks freezing outside!" Harry shrugged and took a large gulp of orange juice. Ron leaned in closer to her, pretending to whisper.

"See the thing is you can't ask him that 'Mione, because it's all luck the seekers you see" he said, throwing a smirk at Harry.

"Piss off you ginger git" Harry said, launching a stray corner of toast at him. He stood up and brushed down his quidditch robes. "Are you going to come and watch today Hermione?"

In truth, Hermione had almost forgotten about the quidditch game with Ravenclaw today, only remembering when she had spotted their scarlet robes as she had raced in for breakfast. She _had_ been planning on heading to the library, although not to do homework. Something was going on with her, and she would have to be a fool not to notice it. Hermione had hoped to find some answers in the vast library, although she had thumbed the spines of nearly every book in there and she could not recollect one which seemed as if it might be useful. Now though, watching the two boys in front of her, her worries felt dissipated, and she wondered whether she had been too concerned before, after all, maybe she had simply sleep walked. Making up her mind she nodded and smiled at Harry.

"I'll be there, but I do have some homework to do first". Ron scoffed.

"I thought that was just a lie you told to avoid Luna and that ridiculous lion" he said grabbing his keepers hat from the table where it had become splashed with milk and crumbs.

"I happen to _like_ Luna Ronald"

"Hey, no one said anything about not liking her Hermione, she's just a bit - strange, that's all" he said, wiping the hat in his robes which already had something questionable spilled down them.

"Strange or no I wouldn't lie to her, but anyway, that's besides the point. I'll be there okay", she said.

"Mmm okay, don't work too hard 'Mione" said Ron.

"Good luck!" Hermione called after them as they left the dining hall. They both turned around and waved, leaving Hermione alone at the table.

* * *

><p>Hermione exchanged a cursory glance with Madame Pince as she entered the library and made her way to her usual corner. As usual, there was no one sat at the small desk which was wedged in between two large bookshelves at the end of the library, although the library was empty anyway as a result of the game. Hermione could just see the speck of the players across the grounds from the window and she vowed to be quick. She had promised Harry and Ron that she would be there after all. Taking a pen and parchment from her bag, she began to catalogue her symptoms.<p>

_Shoelaces (memory loss? concussion perhaps - but from what?)_

_Snape's office (more memory loss- could this be caused by stress? (look in both muggle and wizard books))._

_Passing out (panic attack - Madame Pomfrey said so- no need to worry about this)_

_Black feet (sleepwalking? A prank? No explanation)._

_Strange Dream (again probably stress)._

Setting down her quill she studied the drying ink. She could not make heads nor tales of it. Perhaps it was simply stress, she had been working hard, especially fitting in extra subjects around the required four. But she definitely did not want to go and see the school nurse again, that much was clear. She gingerly touched her head, feeling the now raised lump on her skull. She would brew her own stress potion in covert if needs be. The girls bathroom that also served as an entrance to the chamber of secrets had been blocked off, but there were plenty of other places in the castle where she could be left alone to brew without any questions being asked.

Hermione did wonder though whether she should mention her problems Professor McGonagall. Her head of house was a bright woman of clear mind and sound logic, and most importantly, Hermione trusted her. But in all likelihood she would send her back up to Madame Pomfrey, and then she really could not put off seeing the nurse.

Grimacing she realised that there was one other professor who would most likely to able to help her, if it wasn't just stress causing these strange occurrences:

Snape.

She knew that he would have had to train in anatomy for his masters in potions and so would know quite a bit about both wizarding and muggle composition. She also knew that he was frighteningly intelligent, being the youngest ever professor at Hogwarts and achieving the highest potions score in his N.E.W.T.s that the school had ever seen. And although he was aloof, like Professor Sinistra, at least he had talked to her on rare occasions, which was something she couldn't say for the scowling astronomy teacher.

But why would _he_ help her with her questions? Granted, he had been the one to witness her memory loss, and notwithstanding his strange behaviour in not actually waking her up and sending her back to her own dorms, he had acted decidedly uninterested and uncaring the previous two nights ago.

* * *

><p><em>They had been brewing for two solid hours, and the air was thick with the stench of burnt cauldrons and singed hair. No one had managed to get their potions to the required cobalt blue colour. No one, that is, apart from Hermione.<em>

_Her hair stuck out in all directions, despite the fact that she had tied it back at the start of the lesson. It floated around her head in uncontrollable tendrils and stuck to her sweaty forehead as she wiped at it with the back of her hand._

_She was pleased. The potion was not as complex as the polyjuice that she had brewed in her second year, but having to complete it in such a short amount of time, and under the gaze of the potions master, had made it feel so much more difficult. Carefully tipping the scolding liquid into a glass vial, she moved around the desk to hand it to Snape._

_But suddenly she was no longer moving forward, but instead down, her legs entwined in the straps of Neville's bag which was, for some reason, not under the desk. She fell with a thud to the cold dungeon floor, her leg twisting awkwardly underneath her and the glass vial shattering, spilling its contents around her feet._

_Her ankle throbbed and as she tried to stand up, she found that it would not support her weight. By this time, Snape had placed himself in front of her, his arms crossed, towering over her. She did not look up at him, but instead down at his black boots._

_'I think I sprained my ankle sir', she spoke, pain coursing through her leg and up to her abdomen, making her feel nauseous. The class was deadly silent as every pair of eyes turned to look at Hermione laying weakly on the floor. Snape had still not said a word._

_"Sir?", she asked, finally looking up to meet his unwelcoming stare._

_Eventually he spoke. "Ten points from Gryffindor for Miss Granger's clumsiness. A further five for smashing a perfectly good glass vial", he sneered._

_Reaching out a hand he had grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her to her feet._

_She was surprised at how strong the man was, but as soon as she was standing, he snatched his hand away, as if she were some sort of poisonous ivy._

_'Longbottom', he hissed, 'take Miss Granger to the infirmary. And try not to fall into the lake whilst doing so'._

_'Sir, the lake is no where near the infirmary', Hermione nearly whispered._

_'Exactly', sneered Snape, 'I know what Longbottom is like. I'm surprise he can even walk to classes without walking off a cliff'._

_Neville shrank behind Hermione, even though she was much smaller than him and at that moment hopping about on one foot._

_Without one more word, Snape turned on his heel and walked to his office, robes billowing around him and the door slamming shut with a resounding bang._

* * *

><p>No. She would most certainly <em>not<em> be asking _that_ man for any help. She would have to go about looking into this by herself, and with any hope whatever it was that had happened to her, would somehow stop. Perhaps she should ask her mother to send her some camomile tea for the stress.

Stuffing the parchment into her satchel she nodded once more to Madame Pince as she left the library, and made her way out of the castle and across the lawns to the quidditch grounds, wishing very much that she had brought a pair of gloves.


	6. Chapter 6

The portrait swung open to an empty common room, and immediately people began swarming in, pulling off hats and scarves, rushing to find a spot in front of the warm glow of the fire. Laughter and talk filled the air and emotions were high. The room buzzed with an unseen energy.

Gryffindor had won, with Harry catching the snitch in the 74th minute.

Hermione smiled at the sight of her happy peers as she entered and began to fiddle with the toggles on her coat, her hands numb with the cold. As much as she forced her frozen fingers to find some dexterity, they seemed quite incapable of even the simplest task.

Neville, who was standing next to her, laughed endearingly, brushing her fingers away and quickly pulling the wooden stops from their loops. Hermione looked up at him as he proceeded to help her pull the jacket from her arms with a gentle touch.

"Fanks", she smiled.

"Most obliged m'lady", said Neville, with a hand roll proceeded by a courteous bow. He grinned and walked away to where Seamus and Lee were trying to hex their ties to spell 'Winners' down the middle.

Hermione's smile suddenly faltered. Fanks? She had not lisped like that since she was seven years old, when her parents had taken her to a speech therapist. The therapists name had been Dr. Snide, a fitting name in fact. He had regularly brought the young girl to tears, with his derogatory comments and demeaning exercises. Hermione had once tried to tell her parents, but could not force the words from her mouth after seeing their beaming faces after every lesson, especially when her lisping stopped. She did not tell them that she had borrowed a book from the local library to teach herself so that she would not have to go back to the horrible man, with his grey mustache and tacky lounge furniture.

Hermione shuddered. She could almost smell the man's awful cologne, a cheap and nasty scent that smelt to her like burnt rubber and cough syrup. The potent memory made her flinch.

There was a loud bang as the portrait swung open to reveal the Gryffindor Quidditch team, still in their red and gold uniforms. Every eye in the room swiveled to them, and there was an alarming uproar as the common room started to clap and whoop, patting the boys on the back as they entered the room, bringing with them the unmistakable scent of victory and sweat.

_"Gryffindor Gryffindor,_

_We're a force that you can't ignore;_

_Gryffindor Gryffindor,_

_Hear us shout, hear us roar;_

_Gryffindor Gryffindor,_

_Look at us in our splendor;_

_Gryffindor Gryffindor_

_We're the best house of the four;_

_GRYFFINDOR!"_

The common room chanted, bursting out again into loud claps and cheers. Hermione forgot her sombre thoughts and laughed along, joining in on the last line with a resounding cheer and fist punch to the air.

* * *

><p>Hermione had finally managed to push her way to one side of the common room and was just beginning to fill up a beaker with pumpkin juice when she noticed a flash of red hair ducking under heads and arms coming towards her. Finally Ron stood in front of her, an impossibly wide smile on his still flushed cheeks.<p>

"Did you see me 'Mione!", he shouted above the noise, grasping her shoulders and not even bothering with a greeting, "that last one I didn't think I'd save, could have sworn I was too far away, but then I just went for it you know? And I nearly fell off my broom but I saved it! Did you see!?" He looked so excited that Hermione could not help but laugh kindly. She threw her arms around his clammy figure, hugging him tightly, proud of her best friend.

"Of course I was watching Ronald. It was brilliant!", she smiled and pulled back.

Ron positively beamed at her, still standing close to her as the throng of Gryffindors pushed them closer. Ron suddenly looked nervous and he twisted his fingers together.

"Hermione, I-", Ron began to say nervously, interrupted by Harry pushing through the crowd to grab Hermione by the arm.

"Hermione! Were you watching? Great game huh?", he blurted out as people continued to pat him on the back as they passed by.

"You were great Harry!" she grinned, pulling him into a hug too. He did not fail to notice the murderous look on his friend's face as he glared at him over Hermione's shoulder. Realising his mistake and feeling slightly guilty at having taken Ron's glory away he made some excuse and pushed back through the crowd, high fiving a number of second years as he went.

Hermione turned back to face Ron, who had turned slightly green. He drew in breath, about to speak, but Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I think I'm going to head to bed Ron. Brilliant game. Love ya", she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, smelling sweat. She turned towards the girls dormitory, failing to notice the disappointment on Ron's face.

"I love you too", whispered Ron silently behind her, touching his cheek where the fragile kiss still hung, watching her leave.

For a heart stopping moment he thought she turned back to him when she was half way up the stairs. His breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded furiously against his chest.

But she did not look at him and turned away again. She had simply been regarding the blackened face and shreds of a tie that Seamus had just managed to blow up.

* * *

><p>The moon cast an incandescent glow over the residents of the silent room who slept deeply and easy after the excitements of the day. But one figure sat upright in bed, eyes glinting in the light, looking around mischievously. She slid her legs from the bed and trotted over to the door, slipping out into the silent night.<p>

* * *

><p>On nights like this he thought of her.<p>

_'Common Sev', she whispered, running from behind the stone statue of a roaring dragon to one of a dueling wizard. Sliding behind it she beckoned him with a hand, looking around nervously._

_Severus glanced around before running over in a half crouch to where she kneeled. Her eyes were bright and wonderful. They were the loveliest eyes that Severus had ever seen._

_'You ready?' she asked in an excited hush. He nodded, his black hair falling around his shoulders._

_They both ran to the great front doors and heaved them open enough so that they could slide out._

_Suddenly there was a noise behind them. There was no going back._

_"Run!", she exclaimed in a whisper, grabbing his hand in her small grasp, and sprinting away from the castle._

_Severus did not need to be told twice and ran with her, overtaking her easily and pulling her with him._

_Finally they stopped under a tree, resting against it, breathing heavily and laughing. Severus had not laughed like that in a long time._

_When their breathing had evened out, they had sat side by side, backs against the hard bark. The moon was unnaturally bright and he surveyed her in its glow. Her skin was porcelain, fragile and delicate. It still burned him when she had grabbed his hand, the slow prickling of loves first touch._

_He studied her hands, her exquisite, glorious hands. Dainty fingers and milky half crescents. How he longed to take those fingers in his own and never, ever let them go._

_"Why do you hang out with them?", he spoke gently to her, his voice not accusing but deceiving the hurt he felt in his chest._

_"They're not that bad...once you get to know them", she breathed back. There was a long pause._

_"I've missed you, where have you been?" she asked him._

_"I've been here, the same as always"._

_She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder, letting her hair fall about him._

_She smelled of citrus._

_The night sky was void of starlight, the disk of the moon hanging alone in the vastness of space._

_She was his moon._

_He would orbit her forever._

"Lily" he whispered, a lone tear nearly falling in to his glass of scotch, before he swiped his cheek with a long fingered hand and sniffed loudly. It would not do to dwell on the impossible.


	7. Chapter 7

There was a soft tapping noise coming from the door to Snape's chambers. It echoed around the stone dungeon rooms, reverberating through the despondency that filled the air.

Snape sighed, placed down his glass and rose steadily from the chair, setting his hard and impassive mask on, his deception, his wall against the world. He walked quickly but quietly to the door, listening hard for the person that stood at the other side. There was nothing but silence that followed in the wake of the gentle knocks which felt as thought they were knocking on Snape's heart itself.

With a deep breath, he pulled open the door, a silent hope held between his teeth.

It was her.

Soft curls fell about her shoulders, lying in lazy waves that framed her delicate face. Her cheeks were flushed with a youthful energy, so full of excitement, so full of promise.

And her eyes, her eyes. They were the deepest ocean, the most beautiful night. They looked right at him, into him, through him. They stared into his soul and saw past his cold exterior, saw his damaged heart that was broken and shattered, the fragmented remains of a once true love. But they did not judge, they did not pity, they merely looked and saw.

She extended an arm towards him, her small fingers gently brushing at his black robes, a smile forming across her face. It was contagious and Snape felt his own mouth gently lifting from a passive sneer into a half-formed smile.

"Hermione" he breathed, her very name lifting his heart like a helium balloon, pulling him from his misery and self despair. She nodded, twisting a foot on the floor and clasping her hands together. She seemed suddenly shy, and she turned her gaze to the floor. The invisible thread holding the two together snapped and with it Snape felt something contorting in his chest. He could not bare it.

He reached his own hand out, placing two fingers beneath her chin, forcing her to look back up again. Those eyes, seeing him, the real him. It was like coming up for air after drowning in a sea. He needed this. He needed her.

"Come in".

* * *

><p>Snape watched her out of the corner of his eye as he brewed himself a cup of tea. She sat on what he now saw as <em>her<em> sofa. Her hands were folded in her lap, and she swung her feet against the brown leather.

He had put the scotch and his lone tear to one side.

"I came looking for you last night Mr Sir", she looked to him through the open door. "But there was no answer. No one came. I was so afraid. So alone. But I waited for you". Hermione let out a large sniff, her voice trembling and her chin shaking.

Snape felt his heart crumble. Forgetting the tea he walked straight towards her, dropping to his knees in front of where she sat. He untwined her hands and took them in his own larger ones.

"I am sorry child, it was not my intention to hurt you" he spoke softly to her. "It will not happen again".

She looked at him, leaning forward ever so slightly. "Promise?" she whispered.

"I promise".

_What had this girl done to him?_ For years and years people had tried to get through the walls he put up. Teachers and students, his fellow Death Eaters, even Voldemort himself.

Snape had just built up the walls higher and stronger.

But now this girl had come along and smashed them down. He should be angry. No, in fact he should be furious. She had forced him to relive his most painful memories. She had wrenched them from the deepest darkest corners of his mind with her vulnerability and silent hope. She had forced down his defences, not just to the outside world, but the defences that he had placed around his emotions, his heart.

He realised that he was gripping her fingers much too hard, and quickly loosened his grasp.

He could not be weak like this. It would be his downfall. His death.

He had to fix her to fix himself.

* * *

><p>Snape watched as Hermione's eyelids slowly closed and opened again, battling against sleep. She walked and studied in the day as Granger, and came to him at night as the Hermione whom he had grown to care for. The girl must be exhausted, he mused to himself.<p>

But then he did not truly care for Granger; so what if _she_ was tired during lessons? It was not his problem. He cared for the girl that sat in front of him, the one whose eyes drooped with the weight of fatigue.

It made him tired, to think of this same person as two different people. Of course he knew that his mind games were ludicrous. The girl was the same girl who he had taught for the last seven years. Hermione Granger. But for some reason his mind refused to treat them as the same. If he were to help Hermione to rid herself of this affliction, he would help Granger. But Hermione, the one he cared for, would not recognise his efforts, they would not benefit her, she would not know. They would benefit Granger, know-it-all Gryffindor, and why would he want to help her?

Severus mentally scolded himself. He prided himself on his impeccable logic, and the thoughts that were now running through his brain were highly illogical to say the least. Begrudgingly he would also admit that no matter how much he wished it wasn't the case, she was his student and he owed her a duty of care.

"Goddamn it" he said under his breath, picking up his glass and throwing the remainder of the scotch down his throat.

He would help her: Hermione Granger.

* * *

><p>Snape walked to his lab to prepare the same potion that he had brewed for her two nights earlier: <em>Ad Idem Compos Mentis<em>. It should have been enough to cancel the potion from her system, eradicating the bonds that drew the compound together. If one can split the bonds of a potion, it becomes merely a mixture of separate ingredients. The use of powdered moonstone served then to cause her blood to revert back to its original state.

_The moonstone should have been enough_, he thought to himself. This was only a school boy prank. Rudimentary potions simply affect the blood. Only powerful elixirs alter the chemistry of the brain itself.

It had to be something to do with the essential ingredient. In normal potions this was either root of Asphodel, Rosethorn or Sal Ammoniac. Powdered moonstone is the supreme of such ingredients, an overriding element.

_It should have worked_

Snape rummaged around his private potions lab, running his fingers down the worn out labels on the front of numerous glass vials. The writing was faded on the majority, on some, non-existent, but Snape did not need them, he knew them off by heart. These potions were his friends.

Finding the vial he wanted, he brought it down and opened it. Crushed hippogriff talon. This, he thought, combined with the moonstone, should form a powerful segregation serum to dissolve the bonds in the potion which Hermione had been tricked into taking.

Snape frowned. Even without the moonstone in his original anti-potion, after three days it should have broken down by itself. Needless to say he was worried. The potion was much more powerful that he originally thought. But what worried him even more was that he knew of know one capable in any of his classes of brewing such a strong potion.

Well, there was one, but she was sitting in the room next door.

The note had said _M, C, G_. There was no one else it could be but Malfoy and his cronies. But Malfoy was average at best, and Crab and Goylle - it was a wonder they even found the classroom most of the time.

He took a pinch of the Talon and sprinkled it into the mixture, stirring it clockwise with a bronze spoon three times, before changing direction. He repeated this four times, before checking the heat on the burner and leaving the contents of the cauldron to simmer.

Wiping his hands on an old rag, he walked out to see Hermione running a finger down the spine of his books, just the same as he had been doing to his precious vials.

She seemed content, so he let her be. Normally, he would not let anyone near those bookshelves, but even in a five year old state, Snape was sure that Hermione would treat his books as if they were children themselves, as she did in his classroom. He laughed thinking back to when she had hit the Weasley boy around the back of his head for folding a page of her textbook. The look on his face had been comical.

Why was he thinking now about _Granger_? He shook himself. She was still the same annoying know-it-all she had always been, and he still had absolutely no time for the annoying chit. Still though, perhaps, just maybe, he could respect their mutual courtesy of the written word.

* * *

><p>He wished he could give her a vial of dreamless sleep, but he was worried about its effects counteracting with the anti-potion. Instead he sat, a cup of tea which had gone cold in his hand, listening to the girl talk about her friends, her pets, her stuffed animals.<p>

Snape sighed. The girl changed him. When she was around, something clicked, fell into place, and he felt content. But even still, this had not changed him into some sort of patient saint. What was it that muggles said? _A leopard never changes his spots?_

His fingers gripped tightly to his mug, causing hard imprints from the handle to imprint his flesh. He enjoyed her company, but the constant stream of babble that spewed from her lovely mouth was getting impossible to take. Why couldn't she just sleep like the previous nights?

"...and we went riding on a horse once, his name was Puffin..."

_What a stupid name for an animal_

"...they said something must have spooked him, because he neighed and then rose up on two front legs and I fell off the back of him and broke my arm and..."

_Broke her arm?_ He felt a pang on concern. He had never seen a scar before. But there it was, a thin white line just across her elbow.

"...and my daddy said..."

_Her Father? What was he like? Did he buy her nice toys? Did he give her a goodnight kiss? Who did she get her curly hair from? Was he intelligent too?_

* * *

><p><em>Severus sat at the kitchen table, his legs drawn up underneath him. There was a 'clack, clack', he he moved his metal soldiers across the table, making them joust with one another.<em>

_His mother stood beside him, cooking pasta on the stove. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at her son, his black hair swinging about his shoulders, his normally pale face slightly flushed in the heat of his mock battle._

_Suddenly the door swung open with such force that it cracked the plaster where the handle of the door hit. The noise made both Severus and his mother jump, making the boy knock over his knights and horses so that they lay defeated against the cold wood of the kitchen table._

_The heavy set man moved slowly in to the room, reeking of pungent alcohol fumes and sweat. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, fixing his penetrating black gaze at the small woman before him._

_"What have I told you about having my dinner ready for me when I get in woman?" he hissed menacingly at her. She pressed her back against the worktop as he advanced towards her._

_"You incompetent bitch", he yelled at her, raising a dirty hand before bringing it down sharply._

_She stumbled backwards, a bright red hand mark stinging against the flesh of her cheek. The sound it made still resonated through the air, and the bubbles in the pan popped and sloshed against the sides._

_He leered at her, grabbing the front of her shirt and pulling her to her feet._

_"I'm sorry. I'm sorry", she mumbled, trying to pull away from the man, but he had her too strongly in his grasp._

_He punched her, hard. A torrent of blood gushed from her nose, streaking down her face. She fell to the floor and the man started to kick her. Everywhere._

_The boy at the kitchen table screamed,_

_"Stop it! Stop it!", he yelled, tears flowing down his face. But the man kept up his stream of abuse._

_Severus launched himself from his chair, his thin arms around the man's waist, trying desperately to pull him away, to do anything to stop the woman from being hurt._

_The man turned quickly to him, shoving him to the ground next to his mother. Cold black eyes stared down at him, a mouth turned in to a vicious sneer. He felt something warm and wet on his face. The man had spat at him._

_A large brown boot was brought down violently on his head, stomping away his thoughts, his joy, his childhood._

_The world went black._

* * *

><p>A small tugging on his arm brought him back. Hermione was looking at him, her eyes wide and worried.<p>

"Mr Sir, are you alright?", she asked preciously.

He slowly turned his head to look at her. He nodded.

How could someone hurt something as precious as this? A child.

"Call me Severus", he said to her gently, feeling slightly sick as the memory resurfaced.

"Sevvy", she twisted the words in her mouth, rolling it on her tongue to get the feel.

He was about to correct her when he realised that he actually didn't mind what she called him. If anything, it was endearing.

"Sevvy", she said again, a smile spreading across her face as she looked up at him, grinning.

"Hermione".

* * *

><p>She had finally fallen asleep, her head now resting in his lap. He stroked her hair lazily. It was soft and smelled of strawberries.<p>

He felt his eyes closing and he fought to stay awake. But it was a loosing battle. His eyelids fluttered, and then closed.

* * *

><p>Snape awoke with a start. He was trapped, held down by something. Had they found him out, found he was a traitor?<p>

He couldn't move his legs.

They had cut his legs off as a punishment.

Oh Lord.

Suddenly his mind came to, and he looked around. He was still in his chambers, and the fire still flickered and popped.

Hermione had somehow moved herself so that her nearly her whole body was snuggled into his lap. Both of his arms were around her, supporting her head in the crook of his arm.

He looked down at her. He wished they could stay this way forever. But what a futile wish.

Was it really only less than forty eight hours ago he had been musing to himself that he was tremendously glad for never having children? Watching the girl in his lap his heart ached for the family that he had never had. It wasn't that he had never wanted children, it was only that he had only ever wanted _her_ children.

But Potter had taken that away, and left his son in place to walk up these corridors, sit in his classroom. Even in death James Potter still taunted him.

Snape knew that he was silly to hope that maybe Hermione could be his, that she could continue to make him feel such peaceful bliss. _This isn't her, this is a spell._ The child was not his. He had to learn to live with the fact that he would be forever alone.

Bringing his head down, so that his hair brushed lightly on her cheek, he planted a delicate kiss on her forehead, shifting her body next to him so that he could stand.

His muscles ached and he stretched, his muscles extending in only the most pleasurable way that a morning stretch can. Trying to ignore the dull weight in his chest he pulled on a robe and cast a disillusionment spell over himself and Hermione, picking her up and heading for the Gryffindor common room.

Upon reaching the portrait he whispered the teacher override password to the fat lady, who swung the portrait open on its hinges silently.

Snape rolled his eyes as soon as he set foot in the room, which was decorated from head to toe in gold and yellow. Streamers still hung from every surface from the victory party the night before, as did bits of gold and yellow striped tie, although Snape could not for the life of him work out why.

He sat Hermione down on the sofa, not wanting to risk taking her all the way to the girls dormitory. Besides, that would feel just _too_ personal and break the image in his mind that this was not Granger, just someone else who happened to look like her.

He withdrew a small crystal vial from the folds of his robe. The purple liquid lay flat and reflective and he looked at it intently.

This liquid would bring back Granger and vanquish Hermione. His Hermione. His little girl.

He shook his head. This had to be done.

Placing a hand underneath her head, he lifted it and turned it to the side slightly, unstoppering the vial and pouring the liquid down her throat. She coughed and spluttered, but did not wake, before relaxing back down to the pillows that surrounded her.

Snape knew this was the last time he would ever see her. Like this anyway.

He ran a long finger down her cheek, along the soft line of her jaw.

"I will always be here for you. I promise", he whispered.

He moved silently out of the room, leaving no trace that he had ever been there.


	8. Chapter 8

The pale sun shone down through the clouds, illuminating the ground below, reflecting the nights snowfall and turning the world white. Somewhere in the distance the whomping willow gave a violent shudder, clumps of thick snow falling to the ground with a thud. It twitched and straightened, seeming to watch the figures that trailed out of the castle, multicoloured hats shoved onto heads. Despite the donning of such winter warmers the frost nipped at noses and ears, a stinging cold, albeit a satisfying one, as students edged forward eagerly towards the school gates.

Filtch stood shivering at these gates in his moth-eaten and holy brown coat, a clipboard resting in his hands which every now and again he rubbed ferociously together, the clipboard momentarily tucked under his arm. Cantankerous as ever, he checked off the names of the students passing him, grunting under his breath and casting angry stares their way.

Steadily the snow began to pack flatly against the floor of the path as numerous feet trampled through the fresh fall, leaving muddy shoe prints and a treacherous sheet of icy ground in their wake.

"If you had woken up at a decent time Ronald, we would be sitting in Hogsmeade right now, with a nice glass of butterbeer, instead of sliding about all over this _stuff_!" Hermione gestured widely and erratically at the frozen path, nearly losing her balance as she did so, and grabbing on to Harry's jacket in an effort to stop them from both falling. Filtch glared after them as they exited the grounds, closing the heavy iron gates with a clash of metal on metal

"Just because you fell over 'Mione doesn't make it my fault" laughed Ron leading the way down from the school "the look on your face...classic, just classic!".

"You're an arse Ronald Weasley" Hermione said pulling a face at him, yanking once more at her coat tails to try and cover her wet backside from where she had landed heavily in a fresh patch of snowfall. Ron snorted as he watched her but the smile quickly fell from his face when he saw Hermione turn away from him, a hurt expression playing across her features.

"Shit, Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"

Hermione whirled around on the spot, her hair flying out from under her hat, a devilish grin on her face. The snowball had left her hand before Ron even had a chance to notice, and it hit him squarely in the face, dripping from his nose and eyelashes and falling down the neck of his jumper.

He stood shocked for only a moment before the cold ice slid down his chest and he started hopping about madly, reaching a gloved hand up under his t-shirt to dispose of the chunks of ice which had formed.

"You're dead Hermione Jean Granger!" he shouted when the melted snow had landed on the floor in front of him with a patter. He quickly bent down to cup the fresh snow that was banked around the low stone walls, moulding it into a small uneven lump with numb fingers. Hermione let out a squeal and began to run down the path away from him, her feet sliding about her as she fled, Ron following and occasionally slipping in her wake.

Harry swiped a strand of hair beneath his Molly Weasley knitted hat and grinned at his two best friends who were at this point running circles around a tree, trying to escape from each others' snowball attacks. He recognised their behaviour well enough, the looks on their faces. It was the same way he acted around Ginny. Without a care. Happy. He watched as Ron finally caught Hermione around the waste with one arm and crushing the snowball into her face with the other, pinning her back against his chest.

Harry could not say that their blatantly obvious flirting was such a surprise. He had witnessed it growing over the past number of weeks with an organic sort of purity: the smallest touch here, the lingering look there. Harry had watched as the pair danced a steady dance around each other, although he was not sure that either of them knew the other was mimicking their behaviour back. Hell, he wasn't even sure they knew they were doing it themselves.

He would admit that he had been worried. It was the three of them, it always had been. Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ron, Hermione, Harry. The 'Golden Trio' as the Slytherins had taken to calling them, in a mock gesture of what they considered a heightened and much unwarranted status amongst the rest of the student population. But what if the trio became a loved up duo and an lost boy clinging onto the remnants of a friendship? What if he lost the only people he had ever really called family?

But now as he watched them he realised that everyone would still be - _okay_. As okay as their world was every going to get anyway. And besides, he had Ginny. Sort of.

He wondered if she would be in Hogsmead. Perhaps he could ask her to join them for a butterbeer. Or even better maybe he could somehow concoct some reason for just the two of them to be alone together. He could picture the scene so vividly in his head. Her sitting in front of him, both hands clasped around the glass of golden liquid, looking from over the rim at Harry. There wasn't much being said. Spoken anyway. But there was conveyance of emotions, an invisible threat that tightened and pulled them together, inch by inch.

So lost was he in his day dream that he let out a yelp when a snowball came crashing into the side of his head, filling his ear with crushed ice and causing it to burn in the cold. He twisted to see Ron and Hermione standing looking at him, both panting from their chase, eyes bright and shining with a youthful glory that only the perfect snowfall can bring.

Ron's head was cocked to the side, his arm still half raised from his well aimed shot at Harry.

"Common mate!", yelled Ron between ragged breaths and Hermione laughed loudly and reached out to him, threading an arm through his.

* * *

><p>"Thanks Madame Rosmerta!" Harry called over his shoulder, as the door swung shut behind them, cutting off the warmth on their backs. The golden light from the pub spilled out in small latticed squares onto the street, intruding into the fading light, beckoning the trio back inside. However just a quick glance told them that they were the only students left in the village. Indeed, nearly every shop had closed for the evening, only Madame Babbleton, the robe maker's light was still on as she swapped over a collection of robes from the mannequins in the front of her store. Hermione drew her coat more tightly around her, hugging her arms around her torso as a gust of icy wind blew their way.<p>

"We should have left sooner" she said, more to herself that Ron or Harry, but both nodded in agreement anyway. Of course, it wasn't the first time she had mentioned that they should've headed back, but Harry had managed to keep up a string of excuses to stay. Really, he had just been waiting for Ginny, in the hope that the enticement of a warm hearth and a butterbeer would draw her in. Every time a cold burst of air had swept across the threshold and the door pushed back heavily on its hinges, his heart would beat faster. He had even caught a glimmer of red hair and thought that his heart had actually stopped. But it wasn't her and as the evening drew in closer he had begun to lose hope of her coming. He was right. She had never appeared.

Snow begun to float from the darkening sky and Harry blinked as he looked up at the greying clouds. The snow flakes clung to his eyelashes as he batted them, unable to look directly into the fall as it floated down around him. It left a cold caress on his cheek and he lowered his face and hurried on to catch up with the shadowy figures of Ron and Hermione.

The trio picked up their pace as they passed the wall which marked the outskirts of the village. Their ears and hands had already begun stinging and throbbing with numbness, especially when the wind started up again. Ron was muttering under his breath, but the words got lost in the icy gusts.

Suddenly and without warning Hermione felt her feet coming out from underneath her as she slid on a particularly slippery piece of ice. She let out a strangled yelp as she put her hands out to try and break her fall. The new snowfall has peppered the path with a soft blanket of whiteness, not enough to break her fall, but enough to cover the jagged rock which rested by the side of the path. Her gloved hand smacked directly onto a sharp point of it and she cried out in pain as she hit the ground.

Ron and Harry were immediately at her side, each grasping a now wet elbow and hauling her to her feet. A drop of red blood fell victim to gravity and splashed onto the snow, a vivid bloom of red against a stark white backdrop. Harry noticed that the rock had sliced open the material of her glove and the skin beneath it and he debated pulling out his wand and performing a healing spell right there and then. But the light was fading fast and the way ahead of them was becoming dark, not to mention his hands were shaking so much from the cold he was afraid that he might inadvertently hex her hand off. He gently patted her shoulder and then took her elbow and began to lead her in the direction of the school, blood now soaking into wool of the glove and leaving tiny spatters on the ground as they moved forward.

Suddenly Hermione stopped and Harry drew up short, calling to Ron who was leading ahead with Hermione's satchel swung over his shoulder. "Hermione wha-" Harry began before he noticed the tears spilling from her eyes, careening down her cheeks, before freezing to leave an icy shimmer along her jaw. At a loss of what to say, Harry opened his mouth, although no words managed to find their way out. This was girl who didn't cry. Was the pain of her hand really that much?

The silence didn't last for long though as Hermione screwed up her eyes tightly and began to sob loudly. She sank to the ground, her knees splayed under her, and began to cry louder, so much so that even the growing wind could not drown out her bawls. Ron seemed frozen to the spot, his knuckles white as he clutched at the leather strap of her bag. Harry, managing to overcome his surprise, squatted down to the ground beside her.

Gingerly he placed a hand on her lower back and the other on her elbow, trying to help her up again. Still though she continued to sob and cry as the snow floated down. The last of the light had truly left them now, and Harry struggled to even seen the figure of Ron merely feet in front of him as the snow whipped around them.

"Hermione?" Harry asked in concern, bending low to her ear so that she could hear him over the wind.

"I-I-I fell a-and I h-h-hurt my h-hand", she whimpered, turned her face to Harry's. "I want my mummy. I want my mummy!" she wailed, letting out another cry. Harry almost fell backwards in shock, realisation dawning on him. Ron, who by this point had moved backwards to where they crouched, stared down at the crying girl. Harry could just about make out his expression, and frankly, he looked terrified.

"You don't think -?" he shouted to Ron above the wind, who was still watching Hermione intently. Never taking his eyes off her he too crouched down next to her, putting an arm gently around her shoulder and speaking as softly as he could manage over the wind.

"'Mione? Do you remember who we are?"

Hermione's cries cut off and she thought a moment before nodding her head and turning her crystallised cheeks to him. "Hawwy and Won", she sniffed, turning her attention back to her hands.

"Shit" Harry murmured under his breath, although Ron didn't need to hear him to be thinking exactly the same thing.

* * *

><p>Today had been a particularly good day for Snape. He had started with his customary morning walk, and was pleased to see the freshly laid snow. No matter the age, or the life of a man, something about undisturbed snow always awakens something in the chest of even the most cold and hardened person he had thought to himself.<p>

Snape walked slowly, reveling the crunch under his feet and the split second before the snow shifts and lies flat, the moment of almost walking on air.

Upon returning he had managed to finish "_Potions of the Mundane Yet Inexplicable_" from the _Master of Potions_ Journal which despite having been delivered by owl some two weeks earlier, he had yet to touch. He had even succeeded in having a marginally more bearable conversation than normal with Filius Flitwick _and_ deducted at least 150 house points from Gryffindor. A rather productive day, if he didn't say so himself.

His thoughts had brushed on Hermione numerous times, even though when they did he had snarled and tried to push them away. He had found the most effective tactic to banish such unwelcome thoughts was frightening the first years as they heaped snow in the courtyard to form a snowman, complete with wizards hat, carrot and an old mangy branch for a wand. But now, sitting inside his chambers, with no more little chits to berate, his thoughts had slowly drifted back to his troublesome young ward.

Severus was well aware that Hermione and those annoying pests she called friends had spent the day in Hogsmeade. He had checked the list of student names, although he tried not to admit that his reason for doing this was purely for one student only. He had quickly scanned the list of names written in scrawny red hand and loathe was he to confess, even to himself, that his heart had sank slightly when he had read the name 'Hermione Granger' scrawled at the bottom of the parchment.

He was finding it harder than ever to separate Hermione and Granger in his mind now. He worried for her. For the both of them. A paternal type of anxiety that was becoming more and more difficult to ignore.

He realised that his foot was tapping against the floor, and his hand was clenched tightly around his glass, the tendons standing out in his forearms as he wondered about her whereabouts.

"Damnit Severus, since when have you ever cared?" he hissed to himself, loosening his grasp and setting the glass down onto the table next to him.

Nevertheless, regardless of how he felt towards the girl, he could not sit in this chair any longer. In fact, he knew that right now a rather delectable meal was being served at the teacher's table. If a conversation, even with the irksome Flitwick, could distract him from this bloody unwelcome solicitous worrying then so be it. He let out an indignant huff and rose from the chair, sharply pulling down the cuffs of his shirt, and throwing on his frock coat and teaching robes. God help whatever student, or teacher for that matter, stood in his way.

As if to emphasise the point he walked straight through the ghost of the Fat Friar upon leaving his chambers, leaving the normally jolly figure staring angrily at him as he walked away, robes billowing in a most ominous way.

* * *

><p>Turning the corner he made his way across the front entrance hall, students shifting, and in some cases running, out of his way. This was better already he thought to himself, giving his best glare at a frightened first year Hufflepuff, who turned a deathly shade of white.<p>

Snape almost smirked.

Almost.

"Professor Snape, Professor Snape", came a sniveling voice from across the hall. Snape did not have to turn around to know who it belonged to and sighed deeply in annoyance. Despite this though he did turn to greet the weathered old man that was now half jogging, half hobbling over, his coat ragged, his cat even more so.

A couple of students sniggered under their hands at the sight but quickly retreated into the dining hall when Snape shot them poison looks.

Finally Filtch stopped in front of the much taller potions master, clasping a hand to his side and bending even further to the ground as he tried to catch his breath. Snape lifted a black eyebrow at him. "Mr Filtch", he sneered, "to what do I owe this..._honour_?"

Filtch pushed an old and battered clipboard into his hand.

"Students...not...back...should...be...back" he gasped.

Snape frowned, running his eyes down the list. The charmed ink had turned from red to green as each student had passed back over the wards of the castle. He did not need to look to see which three names would still be blood red.

Potter. Weasley.

Granger.

The first two were not his problem. Neither were in his house and frankly the thick steak and glass of wine waiting for him at the teacher's table concerned him more.

But Hermione. Granger. Hermione was with them. A look of worried despair passed over his features but he replaced it with a well practiced sneer before Filtch had even managed to look back up, still doubled over and panting for breath in front of him.

"Well, well, perhaps Mr Potter got mobbed by his vast amounts of admirers and paparazzi on his way back. Apparently being _famous_ means that he does not need to adhere to the rules of this school". Snape spat out the words with venom, pushing the clipboard back into Filtch's hands and making his way to the great front doors.

* * *

><p>Severus wrapped his cloak around himself as he walked down to the front gates of the school which had been left open only marginally to allow the late students back into the grounds. Darkness had set in and the thick storm clouds which rolled overhead blocked out all light from any moon or stars hiding behind the impenetrable blanket of murky sky. The snow was falling faster and thicker and Severus wished he had something more than his thin teachers robe to cover him.<p>

A strong gust of wind blew, threatening to topple him had his feet not been firmly planted to the ground and he frowned deeply, his black hair flying wildly about him. Despite being annoying and rambunctious, the three Gryffindors were not generally tardy, and Severus peered into the darkness in concern.

He was about to pull open the frosted iron gates when his sharp eyes made out a deeper blackness against the dark night. He cautiously withdrew his wand against any intruder as the shadowy mass grew closer and began to form into human shapes.

Unconsciously Snape let out a sigh of relief as he first recognised Ron's vivid shock of red hair which had escaped from under his hat. But his relief was short lived as another gust of wind blew Hermione's cries his way. He immediately yanked open the gates and paced the remaining distance towards them.

"What is the meaning of this? And _this_?" he gestured towards the crying girl who was being led either side by the two boys.

"Sir, it's come back", spoke Ron above the growing roar of the wind. "She's gone back to, well you know, like she was _before_". He said this looking around nervously, as if scared someone could hear him, even thought it was completely dark and near freezing.

Snape hesitated for a moment. "Leave her with me" he said, rolling his eyes when he noticed both boys shift protectively in front of her. "She'll need to go and see Madame Pomfrey and it would be best if she heard the situation from me" he explained, glaring down at them. It wasn't strictly true of course, he had no intention of taking the girl to see the school nurse, but it appeared to appease both Harry and Ron who nodded and reluctantly let go of their grasps on Hermione's arms.

As she felt their soothing touches leave her Hermione's cries momentarily stopped. Bringing up her head to see where her friends had gone, she found herself looking up at the tall potions master, whose skin stood out in sharp contrast to his black robes, and whose hair danced madly around his head in the growing wind.

She let out a shriek and launched herself at him. "Sevvy!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his waist.

Snape did not return the gesture, but nor did he push her away.

Both Harry and Ron's eyes opened wide, a look of incredulous shock on their faces. Snape glared at them, willing them to just leave him to take care of Hermione, but also wishing to protect at least some of his well-earned reputation.

"I told you to go. So _go_!", Snape hissed at them. Much of his menacing tone was lost to the wind, but nevertheless both Harry and Ron quickly turned into the castle grounds, giving one last surprised look to Snape and their best friend clinging around his torso.

"Oh and Potter, Weasley" he shouted after them. They turned over their shoulders. "100 points from Gryffindor for being out of the grounds at curfew. _Each_" he snarled.

Still lost in shock Harry and Ron put up no protest and began their walk back up to the warmth of the castle.


	9. Chapter 9

Snape watched Harry and Ron's retreating forms before turning his attention to look at the young girls whose arms still clung tightly around his waist. He looked at her for a silent moment, before brining up his own arms to wrap securely around her, one around her shoulders and the other pressing her wet head to his chest.

He sighed deeply, feeling a certain something wash over him, releasing his tension and causing his heart to flutter. He realised then that he had been waiting for her all day, watching the clock, praying and hoping for the first time in his life than one of his potions had not actually worked, that two o' clock would come and he would hear the soft knock on the door.

But it was only seven and here she was, bawling like a little girl about a graze on her hands, although her crying had subsided into quiet sniffs now as she sobbed against his chest. Snape frowned. Had his counter-potion served not to alleviate the problem, but to infuriate it? Or had she suffered similar relapses such as this without anyone knowing, even her for that matter?

He gently untangled himself from her grip and looked properly at her face. It was drastically pale, and she looked so fragile that he was scared that one gust of wind would topple her and cause her to break on the cold ground. Her lips too had a faint tinge of blue to their normal rosy colour, and they trembled as her teeth chattered.

He hoped that those two dunderheads had the sense to bring her straight up to the castle, rather than dilying around and waiting for her to get cold. He had absolutely no intention to bring her to Poppy, even though that was what he had told Harry and Ron, but now he worried that he should take her up to the hospital wing, check for hypothermia or any other injuries that she might have.

But he could't let Poppy see her like this, take her away from him and run her own tests. He would never see Hermione again.

Wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders he steered her in the direction of the castle.

* * *

><p>They walked in silence and when Hermione made to go through the front doors of the castle, he guided her in a different direction, around the side.<p>

Here the snowfall was much heavier and lay thick as no one tended to come this way, off the main path. In fact, he wasn't even sure if there were any students that knew of this trail.

By this point he was half carrying, half dragging Hermione through the snow, her progress dramatically hindered by her short legs that tried to wade through the stuff that turned her muscles into numbing stone.

They continued in silence, for what felt like a long time, before they finally reached a section of castle wall which looked no different from the rest. It was the same roughly hewn stone that had stood for centuries, but Snape had stopped in front of it, and took his wand from his sleeve, facing the wall head on.

He tapped at one of the stones twice with his wand, and muttered a small incantation under his breath, that was lost in the roar of the wind. Nevertheless the stones began to shift and turn as they drew aside to form a small archway, not unlike the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Hermione watched with wide eyes as the wall shifted before her eyes, and Snape had to give her a gentle prod to push her into the opening, so frozen was she with a wondrous delight and cold.

Torches flared on the walls to reveal a long staircase, its steps a flat stone. It was very narrow, its breadth wide enough only for one person to walk down at a time. The stairs were thin, high and very steep.

Snape turned to Hermione.

"Walk behind me. Be careful"

His obsidian eyes were full of care and concern as he turned to walk, every so often turning back around to watch Hermione. He smiled to himself when he saw that she walked down one stair at a time, making sure that both feet were on the flat stone before moving on to the next one.

It made for slow work, and normally Snape would have been annoyed by their sedated pace, but he was more happy to see her managing to get down the stairs, rather than falling head over heel and breaking her neck.

* * *

><p>Finally they had exhausted all of the steps, and stood in a stone passageway, that was only just tall enough for Snape to walk through.<p>

More torches hung from their brackets on the wall, stirring to life as the two people walked past, casting flickering shadows across the length of the floor.

Snape reached the end of the corridor, Hermione walking a short way behind, and pulled out his wand again. He moved his wand in an arch over the air, muttering something under this breath, before drawing it back over again. His eyes were closed and his free hand was brought up in a silent salute, palm forward as if feeling an invisible force field.

There was a sharp click that echoed down the length of the tunnel and Snape's eyes drew open.

Before them appeared a wooden door that was thick and heavy, covered in cold black iron. It had swung open and Snape stepped in, holding it open for Hermione to pass him.

She smiled when she looked around at the familiar surroundings.

They were standing in Snape's living room.

* * *

><p>With a flick of his wand, Snape had a roaring fire going in the hearth, which he directed Hermione to.<p>

He unzipped her wet jacket and pulled it from her arms, unwinding the scarf from her neck in one fluid motion.

Taking her wrist in his hand, he pulled the soaking gloves from both hands with as much care and precision as he afforded to his most delicate potion ingredients.

This is so wrong, he thought to himself. I'm _undressing_ a student. He was almost disgusted at himself, and turned his back from Hermione, gathering her wet clothes in his arms and taking them to a different room, so that she could not see the pained look on his face.

He quickly changed his robes to dry ones, feeling immediately better as he felt the cold seeping from his bones.

* * *

><p>Hermione sat down heavily on the sofa once Snape had left the room, her brown eyes scanning her surroundings. The crackling fire, the worn leather armchair, the crammed bookshelves. She felt at home.<p>

She felt safe.

She had known that he would come.

At first she had wanted her mum and dad. They would kiss her bruises, nuzzling even more kisses into her neck, making her squeal in delight. Her dad would place her on his lap, wrapping his arms protectively around her and stroking her hair softly. Her mother would then come back with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and if Hermione was really ill, sometimes she would even put in some little marshmallows, the bobbed and floated on the surface, leaving trails of white and pink foam across the top of the glass.

But as she fell, and brought her eyes up, she didn't see her parents. She only saw the cold floor, stained red with the blood from her grazed hands, and the two men that stared down at her from high above.

She had cried. Hermione frowned to herself. She didn't like to cry.

At first it was because her hands had hurt, but that soon went away. But then she couldn't stop. She missed her mum. She wanted to go home, away from this barren place, away from this frozen nightmare.

The pain in her chest had constricted and hurt her. She wished she could just lie down in the snow and curl up.

But those men, they had led her gently. They had told her that they had to get back, to where, she didn't know. But they were nice, and so she followed them.

They had walked and walked until Hermione's feet felt like lead, and she could no longer feel her finger tips.

Still she cried, the tears gushing hot from her eyes, only to freeze on her cheeks.

But then she had seen him.

He came from the darkness.

She knew he came for her.

And her heart had not felt so sad.

She knew it would be okay

She felt safe.

He was here.

* * *

><p>Snape watched her silently from the doorway, curious as the display of emotions washed over her face, changing from one of contentment, to one of dissatisfaction, to one at peace.<p>

He stepped in to the room and she turned to look at him, a small smile spreading across her face.

Kneeling down in front of her, he took her hands in hers, and turned them gently so that her palms were facing upwards, examining them with his black eyes.

Suddenly, and without warning, she quickly pulled them away, her eyes wide and startled.

"Oh God, Oh God it happened again", she muttered to herself, looking at Snape as if she had never seen his before in her life.

He was still kneeling before her, his hands still outstretched from where he had held hers, but now he dropped the quickly to his side, rising to his feet so that he towered down over the girl that sat on his sofa with a horrified look on her face.

"Professor Snape", she looked up at him. "Sir", she hesitated. "Sir I'm so sorry". She cast her eyes downwards, a flush of red sweeping across her cheeks.

"Miss Granger..." he began, and then stopped, clearing this throat. His usually quick mind felt as if it had become stuck with tar, and no fast insult came to his lips. He could not even bring his mouth to fall into its normal sneer. It unsettled him greatly.

But what worried him more, was that he still cared for the girl that sat before him. He cared that her jeans were still wet, and that her hair dripped water onto her shirt. He cared that her hands were still grazed. He cared that she looked at him, frightened.

He cleared his throat again.

"If I may", he gestured to her hands which sat in her lap.

She held them up in front of her face, shocked at the deep gash and grazes amongst them. Her eyes were wide as she moved them, turning them back and forth as if she could not believe what she was seeing.

Snape was about to taunt her about her continuing fascination with her own hands, but once again the words seemed to have caught in his throat, and he was left speechless. It was as if he wanted so much to berate her, to make snide remarks at her expense, but his heart was not letting him.

It was easy in class. Perhaps, he thought, it was due to there being no time in which he saw Hermione and which he saw Granger, it had been a sudden change. Or perhaps his feelings for her had grown so much during that one weekend that he was now incapable of treating Granger like every other student.

Of course he was much more harsh on her than any other student.

A wave of guilt washed over him.

She was looking at him, expectantly, her hands palm up on her knees. He sank back down in front of her, grasping her wrist.

She gasped as his fingers brushed over her skin.

Had he hurt her?

But no, she looked fine, only now she was looking at him with a strange look on her face. Puzzled. That was it, she looked puzzled, as if she was trying to work something out. Her head was cocked slightly to the side, her eyebrows raised over so slightly in a delicate arch.

Snape admonished himself. He shouldn't be looking at her eyebrows, how they curved over her features, ending in a point just at her eyes. The thick lashes that framed said attributes. For the first time he noted the hint of gold that played in her iris's, glinting in the firelight like sparks of fire.

The glance had, in reality, been no more than a second, but it felt like they had been staring at each other for hours, searching each others faces, tracing intricate flaws, tiny blemishes.

Snape finally managed to pull his gaze away with a vast amount of effort, as if their look had somehow been magentised.

Pulling out his wand he drew it so that it however in the air, following the line of the cut in her hand. It was deep. Deeper than he thought. The edges were jagged and the surrounding skin looked red and irritated.

"Mundus", he spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.

"Consuo Consui Consutum".

Hermione looked in wonder at the cut in her hand, whose edges were drawn together, forming into a thin white line that traced the life line of her palm, finishing just under the crook of her wrist.

She went to draw her hand away, but Snape held it firmly in his strong grasp, his thumb pressing into her wrist so that she immediately stilled. He pocketed his wand and reached out for her other hand, brushing her knee as he did so.

"Accio Inflammo of Beeswhorde", he spoke, his gaze directed to her hands. The potion came flying from a shelf and he caught it in one hand, still with his eyes fixed to her hands.

Dropping them, he unscrewed the small container, and placed two fingers in, to scoop out the creamy paste inside.

* * *

><p>Hermione's vision was blurred. At first she thought it was from the snow, but as it cleared she realised that she was sitting in an unfamiliar room. She was no longer cold and she could feel the heat from a fire washing over her, causing her to feel sleepy as it prickled at her exposed skin.<p>

There was a man in front of her.

His black hair fell limply around his broad shoulders. It framed his pale face, and her eyes followed the subtle lines of his jaw, tracing over his sharp cheekbones and thin lips.

She noticed how her hands were in his. They were large and strong and his thumb was gently stroking the ball of her palm, caressing it with a soft touch, even though she could feel the calluses on his fingers.

She looked back up to his face. It seemed so familiar. She wasn't afraid. She knew, although she could not say why, that he would not hurt her. His black obsidian eyes were like deep pools in his face. She thought that they looked sad. Sadder than any eyes she had ever seen before.

But she had seen them before.

With a moment of realisation she jumped back from his grasp.

Snape. Professor Snape.

"Oh God, oh God", she heard herself whisper. It had happened again. One moment she had been walking back from Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron, and the next her potions master was kneeling before her holding her hands.

She looked at him, expecting to see a cruel snarl on his face, but instead it was blank and impassive. She drew her eyes away, searching for a spot on the floor, in the hope that it would open and swallow her up. She had never felt so mortified before.

Had she hurt her head and somehow managed to find her way to Snape? What had she said? What had she done? This was even worse than the time she had fallen over in his classroom, or fainted in front of the whole of her Ancient Runes class.

She realised that he was speaking to her, asking her a question, although she wasn't aware of what he was actually saying. Snape was gesturing to her hands. Her hands? She brought them up to her face. They were bloody and grazed, red lines raking across white, small flaked of skin peeled back. She turned them over. How had this happened?

She looked up at him. He obviously wanted to heal them.

He knelt down in front of her once more, his face only inches from hers, their eyes level so that she could study his face.

He took one of her hands in his own. She was shocked, astonished, astounded. This was nothing like when he has grasped her and thrown her to her feet in his classroom. His fingertips brushed her hand gently, tenderly picking up her limp wrist. It appeared to her as such a benevolent gesture, that her heart leapt in shock. This man, the one who had taunted her, jeered at her, picked up on any mistake that she had ever made, was now sitting before her, treating her as if she were a fragile piece of china. Perhaps this wasn't even Snape. Perhaps it was someone under Pollyjuice Potion. Perhaps someone had captured her and was now masquerading under Snape's identity, someone that she trusted. But in that case why wasn't in Harry or Ron or even Neville or Ginny sitting before her?

He was looking at her, his eyes searching her face. For what?

She in turn stared back in to his tenebrous eyes, those sad, sad eyes. They were immeasurably deep, pools of liquid tragedy. They wrenched at her gut and tore at her heart. Their despair was inconsolable and she felt herself mourning, mourning for something, sometime, someone.

The gash on her palm was now just a white scar that stood out sharply against her red skin. It was impeccable magic. She remembered how she had once tried to heal one of Ron's cuts after he had slipped down a bank and cut open a leg. She had been proud of her efforts, but they didn't even compare to this, just a spiders silk line that ran down the curve of her thumb.

Now he took some cream in his hands, rubbing it into her palms in slow circles, caressing her cuts. It stung ever so slightly, but then they were cool and no longer tingled in pain. Again she was shocked by how gentle he was, how he pressed his thumb down with a pressure that was hard, but not painful.

She felt lost when he dropped her hands and stood up. They seemed cold now that his protective fingers were no longer cupped around them.

"Sir... what's happening to me?", Hermione asked tentatively asked.

* * *

><p>He had tried to explain it as best as he could, trying to spare her feelings, even though his keen eyes noticed the gentle flush of her cheeks, that grew progressively redder as his story went on.<p>

He told her about the initial night and how she had been down to see him every night, at the same time, since then. He left out what they had spoken of, or how he had carried her back up to bed every night, but instead spoke of the cures that he had worked on, how none of them had so far been useful.

She nodded along thoughtfully when he told her of the compounds of the potions, sometimes interjecting with a question: how much moonstone had he used? would the potion be more effective in a different form?

He answered his patiently, surprising even himself at the level of patience he afforded her. Normally he would snap the answers to her questions, other times ignoring her completely. But he felt that he owed it to her, to answer her questions, to find her a cure, even though his heart ached at thinking of her fully cured.

"Sir, could you not have separated the ingredients of the original potion to find out its qualities, and thus used it to work the correct anti-potion?" Hermione asked him, drawing him out of his reverie.

He shook his head slowly, looking at the fire, rather than at her.

"When Potter first brought you down, I was sure what I was looking at. Anti-aging potions are quite simple to brew and even more simple to banish from the system. I didn't ask to see the original potion because there was no need. Of course though, those little idiots of yours had forgotten the box of cursed chocolates anyway, so I couldn't even have looked if I wanted to".

Hermione nodded at him, brushing over the insult on Harry and Ron. She was used to it.

They both sat in silence for a short while. The only sound that could be heard was the crackle of the fire, and the pop of the wood in the grate.

"What do we do?" Hermione finally asked.

Snape's heart leapt a little. _We_. He had never been a _we_ before. It was always 'I' and 'them'. Even with Lilly it had always been 'her' and 'him'.

Lilly.

He immediately felt guilty. Here he was sitting with Hermione Granger, musing over the eyebrows when his love was lying cold and dead under piles of rotting earth. How could he? He had betrayed her.

He snarled at Hermione, for making him question himself, for making him question Lilly. But his guilt was replaced with horror and he saw her sink back into her chair, away from him and his vicious expression.

He suddenly felt weary and tired. These emotions of his were giving him whiplash.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and closed his eyes.

"I do not know. I shall keep trying" he spoke quietly.

"Will I - will I _turn_* tonight, do you think?", Hermione asked him, leaning closer to hear his response.

Snape let out an involuntary snort that shocked both him and Hermione.

"Miss Granger, you are not a warewolf", he smirked. "However, I think it would be prudent for you to stay here for tonight, so that I can watch your condition to search for any signs when, as you say, you _turn_".

Hermione nodded.

"So I guess we wait", she said.

"I guess so".

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><p><strong><em>Please Review :)<em>**

Sorry for any mistakes in this chapter, or if you feel the ending was a little rushed! I just got a call from a friend to say we're going to TGI's and to watch _The Inbetweeners _movie tonight. Any British fans reading this will understand how big of a deal this is haha.

Hope you like the interaction between both Snape/Hermione Snape/Granger. I want to covey how before he was worried about his conflicting feelings of protection over Hermione, but utter dislike for Granger, but now he realises that he had conflicting feelings as he feels protective over Hermione, but is starting to feel _something, _although he isn't sure what that something is yet, for Granger.

Anyway, I hope that this did come across. If not, let me know and I will endeavour to change the chapter!

xx


	10. Chapter 10

_I'm writing this whilst listening to 'The Heart Asks Pleasure First' by Michael Nyman...it goes really well so feel free to listen whilst you're reading :)_

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><p>Snape had retreated to the familiar surroundings of his private potions laboratory, feeling his strained heart and troubled mind immediately finding a sense of tranquility in the place where he truly felt at home.<p>

Crystal vials lined the walls, some large and smooth, others minute cut glass that caught the light at different angles, sending shards of light bouncing against the walls and across the low ceiling. Some of the vials held peeling labels, whose corners bent away in a soft curl from the multifarious potions, and whose tan tone was the only indication of their dotage. Others were a pristine ivory, an impeccably written script that was small and precise etched across their front.

There was a wooden work bench that stretched the length of the small room, meticulously scrubbed but still with the look of a piece of worked material, something obviously used. The knots and grooves of the wood were as familiar to Snape as his own hands, the wonted grain an old friend.

The dungeon room smelt of herbs and spices, although it was delicate fragrance, permeated with the musky savor of the man that stood in it. Now that he was away from..._her_, away from her unnerving gaze and delicate young scent, he felt something clear from his mind, a veil being drawn back over his carefully guarded emotions.

He sat down heavily on a wooden stool and dropped his head to his hands, his fingers curling through black hair, tugging at it forcefully.

One second was all it took.

One second to change everything.

Their eyes had locked and something had transpired, something which he didn't even know was good or bad. It was a mutual understanding. Recognising one another for the first time, truly looking at the person in front of them.

He had looked at her, not as a student, not as Harry Potter's friend, not as just another girl, not even, as Hermione, the little girl he had grown so attached to. No. He looked at her as the girl she had become: brave, intrepid, determined, intelligent, yet unsure and insecure, inhibited and diffident.

He had looked at her, and he had seen himself.

A low, guttural moan escaped from his lips, and he drew his body further inwards, his fingers still twisted in his hair, pulling and tugging as if trying to pull out his emotions, his memories, the side of him that was still human.

He felt the ice inside of his soul melting as his mind forced the image to the front of his thoughts. But the image shifted and changed, bright eyes changed from green to blue, sapphire to emerald. They expressed sympathy, and hurt, rejection and determination, courage and bravery, acceptance...and love.

His heart felt like it was being squeezed and ripped apart as easily as a piece of parchment, tearing jagged and uneven. His emotions battled in a heavy clash, raging around his ribcage. He felt like his chest was collapsing and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt the first stinging tears fall in silent droplets.

He missed Lilly so much; she was the thread that drew him together, that held the seams of his very existence closed. But now they were unravelling.

And everything was falling apart.

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><p>.<p>

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**_A/N_**

Hey guys, i'm sorry that this is a short chapter! I really wanted to try and convey Snape's emotion and conflicting feelings, and didn't want to get really deep into it, and then suddenly go back to the mundane...but I am writing the next bit now :)

Seeing as this is the tenth chapter, I would **_love _**to make it up to 50 reviews! For you six people who can make this possible...thank you so much! And for my regular reviewers (you know who you are), you are my muses and my inspiration, and without you I would not want to write... so I thank you an immeasurable amount :)


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione sat perched on the edge of the sofa as she looked around the room that Snape had just vacated, taking stock of her surroundings.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves stretched across two walls of the room, crammed full with books and journals. As if unconsciously, Hermione felt herself standing and walking towards them, running a finger down the cracked leather spines, tracing over the imprinted titles and worn bindings. Some she recognised, finding at least six different Spellman's Syllaberys of different editions and _One Thousand Magical Herbs_ and Fungi by Phyllida Spore. But for the vast majority, most were books that she had never even heard of.

She pulled a book out at random, caressing its worn spine gently and letting it fall open in her hands. She inhaled the rich aroma of aging paper and ink as her eyes settled on the page.

_Cornifer's Compound_

_Marinade Flabberghasted leech in Solution of Ironhide for two moon spans, before removing with a silver plated iron spoon. Cut immediately upon extracting using the Wolfeshood method of cutting with a Ponticluse variation on the 45th tick._

_Antimony should be added every 3.15 drops to one turn of the clock, for a period of a half sun, whilst adding an Ashwinder egg which has been infused with Re'em blood in a counter-clockwise stem._

_Nux Myristica can be added during the full moon, reducing potency by 2.4 quadrants to the militude_

_..._

Hermione was astounded. After successfully brewing a batch of Pollyjuice Potion in her second year, she believed that she was reasonably confident and learned in the art of potion making. But reading even the smallest snippet of an unknown potion caused this rather fanciful idea to leave her mind immediately.

She carefully closed the book and slid it back into its slot, running her eyes along one wall of bookshelves to the one on the back of the room, furthest from the fire.

There was a thick rug underneath her feet however she still shivered as she left the comforting heat.

On this side of the room the air felt cold and silent. Almost dead.

Every single book on this side of the chamber was black and the coldness seemed to actually be radiating from them, a draft seeping through the yellow pages and escaping into the surrounding air. Hermione shivered and drew her arms around each other, goosebumps forming along her skin, goosebumps not just from the cold.

She could feel them. Something wrong. Something nefarious.

She hadn't know that her feet had drawn forward, so that her nose was now only inches away. The books held no titles, only an inky black space filled with desperation and longing... and power.

A large piece of wood cracked in the fire, and Hermione jumped back startled, backing away until she hit the sofa, her breathing heavy and panicked.

Those books held dark magic, very ancient, very powerful, dark magic.

She had always stood up for her professor when he came under attack from the judging minds of Harry and Ron. To them, Snape was behind everything bad that happened. In fact, it had even becoming a running joke so that if one of them got caught out in the rain, or narrowly missed dinner, it was Snape's fault.

Of course, in private Hermione had questioned her own thoughts. She even debated writing a listing: _evidence for the good/bad_, and probably would have, had she not been so scared that somebody would find it.

But she trusted Dumbledore and therefore, by extension, she reasoned that they also had to trust in Snape. Of course she, and everyone else at the school, knew about Snape's days as a Death Eater and she was sure that Snape knew that everyone knew, although thinking about it, be probably used it to his advantage to strike even more fear and terror into his students.

But now she was not so sure. Why would a man who was purportedly on the good side be so interested in the dark arts, hold bookshelves full of the blackest magic?

_You know he's always had an interest in the dark arts, hence why he applies every year for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. And there's nothing wrong with theory really is there, just because he studies it, it doesn't mean he actively practices. Perhaps he is developing counter-curses for Dumbledore..._

Hermione kept up the stream of thoughts in her head, a series of explanations and rationales, but there really was no denying it...she was frightened of him. Before he had been the stern teacher with a rumour filled background full of speculation and hearsay. But now she saw him as the Death Eater than he once was, a man who had murdered and tortured and raped. She shifted in her seat. No one knew she was here with him. She couldn't remember what happened to her when she turned into her younger self. What if Snape was...taking advantage in her vulnerable state? What if he took her to Voldemort as some kind of play thing, then healed her up and brought her back here, feeding her lies and deceit?

Her eyes scanned the room for a door, an escape route. But all the doors were locked and almost certainly warded. She was trapped.

She felt for her wand.

It was gone.

_Shit. He took my wand. No body takes another's wand if they're on the same side._

_He's going to torture me._

_He's going to rape me._

_And if I remember anything he's going to kill me_.

Suddenly, everything in the room turned in to a weapon that Snape could use against her. The candlesticks became bludgeons, the bookshelves could crush her, the fire could burn her, the quills could stab her.

She felt a familiar sensation stirring in her gut, much the same as it had been that time in Ancient Runes. It twisted and contorted and she felt a prickling heat rise up her spine and sweep across her face. Her breathing was hard and laboured and it felt like she had run for miles.

The room was swaying and titling and Hermione felt her knees buckle from underneath her.

Before everything went black, her eyes locked on an item that hung on the wall next to the fire.

It was a pressed flower.

A lilly.

* * *

><p>A loud crash startled Snape from his thoughts, and he was immediately out of the door. He had expected to see something smashed on the ground, some precious vase or priceless artifact, but looking around, he saw nothing amiss.<p>

Except, that was, for the absence of the girl.

Then he saw her, blocked from his view at first by the sofa, but now he saw that she had landed heavily on the floor...had she tripped? Fainted?.

He quickly hurried around to where she lay, placing his long cool fingers on either side of her head, tracing the ridge of her skull for any fractures or bruises. He stopped when his fingers hit something warm and wet. Lifting them away, the shock contrast of his pale skin and the ruby red blood stirred something in him and he cried out, a low moan.

The noise seemed to startle Hermione awake, and she opened her eyes with a flutter. Snape's coal black eyes started down at her.

She jumped with a start, flinching away from him when he held out a hand towards her. His fingers were covered in blood...her blood. She too let out a cry, one of fear and terror, trying to push herself away backwards from him.

Snape was confused. The girl in front of him looked frightened and terrified...of him.

"Miss Granger, you hit your head on the way down", he spoke to her, trying to keep any sort of emotion from his voice, leaving it flat and monotone. Her eyes were still wide and frightened but she had stopped trying to shuffle backwards.

He pulled out his wand from the sleeves of his robe and moved towards her. Again he internally flinched as she shrank back from him.

He was only trying to help.

"Please", he whispered softly, desperation slipping in to his tone.

Hermione hesitated before nodding her head slowly.

* * *

><p>He handed her a warm and sweet cup of tea, and a tiny vial of purple pepper-up potion. Hermione looked at both warily, before lifting the potion to her lips and drinking it down in one. Lifting the cup from it's saucer, she wrapped her fingers around it, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the china, but made no move to drink it.<p>

She was watching Snape, but not just looking at him. It seemed as though she was looking for something, he thought to himself. It was not obvious, but every so often she would peek out from under her long eyelashes, and sneak a glance at him. Normally he would have snapped, asked her what on earth it was she seemed to be searching him for, but he was concerned that she looked, and was now acting, scared. He didn't want to provoke those feelings in her anymore than he already had, although how he already had, he did not know.

Snape moved to collect the empty vial from her, holding out an arm for her to place it in his hand. But something was off, she took an unnecessary time to give it to him, and her gaze lingered a little too long on his forearm. Suddenly he got it.

He turned and sat down heavily in his chair, the empty vial disappearing into the folds of his robes.

"I won't hurt you" he said to her, his voice weary. His eyes flickered from her to behind her head to the far side of the room. "You know, me mustn't touch what isn't ours".

"Sir?"

"You have obviously seen my...reading material, and assumed that I was still some delinquent Death Eater. You probably assumed that I had been lying to you all along and you probably also thought that I was going to hand you straight into the arms of the enemy". Snape paused, turning his full gaze back to her, plastering his face with the look he reserved for wayward children in his classroom.

"Am I correct?"

Hermione looked to him, trying to meet his gaze, but faltered and cast her eyes downwards.

"Something like that Sir" she mumbled into her lap.

Snape continued. "I also think that you got yourself so worked up over your imminent meeting with the Dark Lord himself that you had another panic attack and passed out on my floor. Do I still remain correct?"

Hermione tilted her head ever so slightly, a gesture that would not have passed for a nod, but which Snape knew was one anyhow.

Snape fought back the memories of their prolonged gaze, of their mutual bonds during Hermione's _changes_. He had to remember that she was his student and he was her teacher.

"Well, obviously the know-it-all does not know it all". He punctuated these last three words, glaring at her under dark brows, even though inside it twisted his chest to speak to her like this.

"B-but where's my wand?" Hermione asked in a whisper, "why would you take my wand if you mean me no harm?"

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed, acting as thought she had just asked the most idiotic question, when really he thought it was a perfectly valid query.

"Your wand was in your coat pocket. I took your coat from you because it was drenched and I did not want you to catch a cold. Now tell me, how is that defying me meaning you no harm?" he hissed at her.

Hermione's cheeks flushed a bright shade of red and she brought her chin down to her chest, brown hair falling in a curtain over her face so that all Snape could see was the tip of her nose and her long eyelashes.

* * *

><p>Slowly the clock drew around to two o'clock, its second hand clunking by in slow thuds.<p>

Hermione's hands twisted in her lap, and she looked nervously at Snape, knowing what was about to come. This was the first time that she had actually been awake for the transition and was nervous as to how it would happen.

He in turn looked merely bored, and sat with one leg crossed over the other, idly scribbling with his quill against a piece of parchment. Although what Hermione did not know was how hard he gripped the quill, how tightly he pressed the nip to the page, so that the ink stained and blotched the parchment.

"How do you feel?", he asked her. It was not a question that sounded like he really cared for her welfare, more so one of scientific evaluation.

"Fine, I think", she answered back, unable to keep the nervousness from her voice. Snape nodded silently.

Finally, there was a sharp click as the quill nip snapped clean away. Snape muttered a curse under his breath and stood up quickly to retrieve another from his writing desk. He was foraging through the draws when he heard a noise behind him.

"Sevvy!"

He couldn't help but smile.

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><p>"Hermione, I'm just going to ask you a couple of questions, and I want you to answer as best as you can, okay?", Snape said to her, his voice soft and gentle, almost unrecognisable.<p>

They were sitting on the sofa together, her one end, him the other. She scooted closer and laid her head against his arm, her fingers bunching around his biceps and her legs drawn up so that they too rested against his side.

"Okay, ready now", she smiled happily into his black robes.

Snape's heart lurched at this close contact and his bodily immediately went stiff and rigid, as if he was scared to make one move that would scare her away.

He looked down at her, but could only see a mass of caramel curls. But he knew that these were the curls of Hermione Granger. It worried him and excited him at the same time.

When she had drawn closer, he had felt...something, and it had stirred in his gut and tugged at his heart. Dare he say it, was he attracted to the girl? But surely not, surely he was just desperate for the feel of her against him, a touch, contact, something that would banish the lonely space inside of him.

But it was wrong on so many different levels. How could he be attracted to a five year old girl? _But she's in a woman's body_ his mind remarked back. He growled. Even still, how could he be attracted to a _student_?

Hermione shifted her head so that her honey coloured eyes stared right into his, and he felt that flutter in his chest again, the buzz of electricity that passed through him when he saw her looking at him.

_This is so wrong_, he chided himself, but forced himself to ask the relevant questions.

"When was the last time you saw me?" he asked her, focusing his gaze squarely on the piece of parchment that was rested on his knee.

"Um", Hermione thought silently for a short while, "when I hurt my hands".

Snape nodded, jotting something down on the parchment, before moving on to the next question: "how long ago was that?"

He, of course, knew that it was only a couple of hours ago, but he was worried that the state she was in now would be affected if she could not recognise timing, and was missing large parts out.

"I think- I think it was quite a long time ago", she answered back.

Snape frowned and resumed his scribbling.

"What do you remember from an hour ago?"

"I-I...I can't remember", she whispered, sounding almost ashamed. Snape nearly smiled to himself...she could not stand to not know the answer to a question, even if it wasn't academic.

"Do you feel any different from normal?"

"No", she shook her head.

"Do you notice anything...unusual?"

"No, I don't think so" she began. Snape frowned again, before Hermione suddenly started again. "Wait, um actually, there is something. I-I can smell, well, it smells like swimming pools, all the time."

Snape wrote it down, although his look had now turned to one of confusion.

"Thank you Hermione", he said, as she yawned against his side.

"Can I sleep now?", she asked groggily, and he could see that her eyes were already shut.

He nodded, although she didn't see. She was already fast asleep.

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><p><em>Black clouds filled the night sky, blocking out the stars and the moon. They looked ready to burst at any moment, releasing their watery burdens. A low groan rumbled through the air as if the heavens were in pain.<em>

_But he didn't notice. He didn't notice the stormy thunderclouds. He didn't notice how the warm summer breeze stirred his hair, humidity pressing around him on all sides. He didn't notice how the only sounds was the clack of his shoes against the stone floor. He didn't notice that the stars no longer shone. He didn't notice because the utter despair that threatened to suffocate him and drag him under the surface was too black and too deep to allow for anything else._

_He stopped as he turned the corner, a pregnant silence filling the hot air._

_Sometimes he had come here, to try and say hello, to try and say sorry...for everything. To see the life he had missed, to smash his heart into even tinier pieces, to hate himself even more._

_Once he had walked so close, so close. He could smell the freshly mown grass from the garden, and the scent of baking bread. It swirled around him. He pictured her, just her, standing in a quaint wooden kitchen, her back turned as she looked out of the window on to the garden, a large bowl full of mixture and a wooden spoon still in her hands as she gazed._

_He saw strong arms wrap around her from behind, his arms, holding her close, never letting her go._

_Her belly was swollen and he rubbed it in gentle circles. Would they have ink black hair and dark eyes, or would their hair be flame red, green emeralds set on their perfect face. Would they have her courage, her intelligence, her passion, her kindness? He hoped they would be all their mother, so perfect in so many ways._

_He brushed a hand against her hair, stroking it behind an ear and kissing her softly on her neck, smelling jasmine and honeysuckle on her beautiful skin._

_But then a window had opened, and the dream faded, and he sank back into the shadows, watching the woman he loved in the arms of another man._

_The window wasn't even there anymore. It was just a barren hole. Part of the thatched roof was fallen in, rafters sticking up like splinters of broken bone protruding from flesh. He could smell smoke, something burning._

_He walked closer, placing a hand to the small picket gate. For a moment, only the briefest of moments, he closed his eyes, and pretended he was home. But when he opened them again, he saw only destruction._

_The gate swung silently shut behind him as another fork of lighting lit up the sky in a flash of light._

_The door had been half blown of its hinges and there were large burn marks scorched into the wood, black charcoal blemishing the pale blue frame._

_There was a figure lying at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes wide and staring. But it wasn't James Potter. It was just an empty corpse. A shell._

_He lifted a leg over and took the longest walk of his life to the second floor._

_It still smelt like her, now mixed in with the scent of a forthcoming storm, the gaping hole in the roof open to the outside world._

_The darkness was coming._

_He stepped in to the room._

_No._

_His legs gave way and buckled, bringing him crashing to his knees._

_The silence gave way, and he heard a sound, a dying animal, a guttural moan, before he realised it was coming from him._

_Her red hair no longer glinted in the light, and the spark from behind her eyes were gone, forever._

_He fell forward onto his hands and knees, finally reaching her, finally touching her one more time._

_Gathering her up in his arms, he rocked her against his chest as the tears fell down his face. His fingers entwined in her hair and he brought her closer to him, resting his chin on the top of her head._

_There was no name of it. But 'it' suffocated him. 'It' stomped on his heart with an iron boot. 'It' killed him, just like he had killed her. His Girl. His Love. His Lilly._

_It was only when he moved his hand away did he see the blood that now stained his hand, red blood that stained his heart black._

_For the briefest of moments the clouds shifted, and a single star peeked through the thick curtain of death._

_It shone brightly._

_Then it flickered._

_And went out._

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><p><em>.<em>

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**_A/N_**

Yey massive thank you for getting me up to 50 reviews! YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME! Let me know what you think of this chapter...I know it's a bit confusing what exactly Snape is feeling at the moment, but he's confused too...hopefully it will become clearer in the later chapters :)

You da best!


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione's eye opened to find herself looking at a familiar red and gold tapestry and the comforting weight of a heavy quilt over her body. Tilting her head she could make out the shapes of her room mates still tucked in to their bed covers, tufts of matted and tangled hair splayed widely around their pillows.

_Had last night been a dream?_

The crease at the centre of Hermione's brow deepened as it did when she was deep in thought and she brushed a hand over her forehead. She had taken a trip of Hogsmeade, somehow blacked out, woken up in Professor Snape's _rooms_, not classroom, or office...but god forbid his actual chambers. Hermione felt her cheeks prickle with embarrassment but forced the strange scenario of events forward, trying to ignore the horrified feeling of being that close to the 'bat of the dungeons'. He had told her about...about? Why did her brain feel so hazy? Told her about her reverting back to a mental state from eleven years ago. Something to do with a potion. Yes, a potion, that was why he was involved in the first place.

And Harry and Ron had taken her down to see Snape, who thought he had cured it. But she had been to seen him every night for the last four nights. She almost moaned she was so mortified. He was a grown man, her teacher, and he could barely put up with her at the best of times. To think about being in his company, acting like some little girl...Her thoughts trailed off as the twisting sensation in her chest grew stronger, a constant reminder of her humiliated self.

Throwing her legs out of the bed, she walked the few steps to the bathrooms, made even quicker by the cold stone under her feet that she skipped across. The bathroom smelled like lemon and soap as it always did first thing in the morning. Hermione liked the clean, almost clinical smell, and always made a conscious effort to awaken before the other girls so that she could use the bathroom by herself. Not that it was much of an effort, the other girls seemed to sleep through just about everything and anything, leaving the shortest amount of time possible before getting up and reaching classes. But still, Hermione liked to wash her face in a sink whose plug hole was not clogged by mounds of hair, and breathe air that was mostly oxygen, instead of being predominantly made up of perfume, which left her coughing and gasping for breath if she walked through a particularly dense mist that had just been sprayed.

She turned to the mirror and immediately gasped when she saw her reflection. Her hair was limp and her eyes hung heavy and tired. As if seeing herself had confirmed that the person in the mirror was on fact her, she felt the wash of tiredness overcome her, causing her to feel nauseous and her head to throb. But Hermione tried to brush the feelings away, lifting her eyebrows and splashing her face with cold water. She shivered a little as the tiny water droplets slid down the neck of her pajamas and over her breasts. _At least it woke me up_ she thought as she slid off her clothes and stepped under the shower, welcoming the warm stream of water as it slid down her body in miniature waterfalls.

She tried to clear her mind, concentrating simply on kneading the shampoo into her hair, working her fingers in small circles as the lather foamed and drifted down her back. But no matter how hard she tried, her mind kept going back to the events of the night before, and the information that had been imparted on to her.

But right at that moment, she wasn't thinking about who it could possibly have been that sent the chocolates, why they would do it, would she ever be normal again. No, she was thinking why was it Snape, of all people, that had to be the one to tell her.

He had sat with his eyes trained in her direction when he explained everything to her, but she could tell that he wasn't really looking at her, the light not quite reaching his eyes. He had been still, as he always was, unblinking and inanimate, but she had noticed how his thumb brushed over the sleeve of his robe, caressing it, but not softly, instead with a surprising vigor in the small movement. And Hermione could tell that he was definitely uncomfortable with having to tell her such personal information, even if the only personal side of it related directly to her own person.

And she had had to sit, her inside burning and blistering with questions, and remain composed and silent, fearing to talk out of turn so that she didn't anger the man who had so far been uncharacteristically kind to her. If the situation wasn't awkward enough, the uncomfortable atmosphere had only served to heighten the discomfort, for both Snape and Hermione.

It should have been Harry and Ron.

She could see why they had kept it from her, to spare her exactly the same feeling that she was feeling now...the humiliation, and the dread of seeing Snape again. But that wasn't for them to decide and it was unfair, no, not just unfair, unethical, to not tell her things that pertained directly to herself. They were in the wrong and they had no right.

By the time Hermione had stepped from the shower, she had worked her emotions up into an even bigger lather than the one on her head.

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><p>When Hermione reached the common room, she saw Harry and Ron's heads crane backwards to look at her from over the sofa. They had been waiting for her, she knew. Seeing them sitting there had made her anger momentarily disappear.<p>

She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she was scared and frightened. Something was happening to her body and to her mind, something that she had absolutely zero control over. And if Snape didn't know the answer then who would? What if it got worse and she turned back to a five year old trapped in a woman's body? She would be a laughing stock. She could picture the headlines now: 'Brains of Golden Trio Goes Mad'. Hermione involuntary shuddered.

Seeing the face's of her best friends had given her some comfort from the panic. They were the only people she could speak to about it, and the only ones who could take her mind away from her problems. _But_ her mind told her _they kept it from you, they didn't tell you...how is that being trustworthy friends?_

Harry raised a hand to her, a greeting and a beckoning rolled in to one wave, and Ron gave a half smile, his red hair hanging mischievously around his eyes.

Hermione looked at them, and then turned that look into a glare, before turning sharply on the spot and clambering out of the portrait hole, head held high, her mouth a thin defiant line and her school satchel banging against her thighs.

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><p>Hermione was shoveling eggs onto her plate, a wet slapping sound as she practically threw them against the school china, when Harry and Ron slid into the benches around her. Both boys stared at her, Harry twisting in his seat next to her so that he faced her, and Ron sitting in front of her with an eyebrow cocked and his mouth twisted up at the side.<p>

"What's up?", asked Harry, his expression concerned but also determined, as if keen to get to the route of the problem, and unwilling to take silence for an answer, which was exactly what Hermione gave him. Her eyes remain fixed on the platters before her, but now she flung pieces of toast on to her plate with so much vehemence that they bounced off on to the surrounding table.

She reached out her arm again before Harry's hand grabbed her wrist.

She turned violently in her seat to face him, and he withdrew slightly, but his grasp on her remained strong.

"What?" she hissed at him, her eyes blazing as she glared at him.

Her vicious tone caught Harry off guard and he dropped her wrist, hurt showing clearly on his face.

"We just..well..we want to know if everything's..._okay_, you know?" ventured Ron, looking every bit as nervous as he did when he knew that McGonagall would ask him the next question.

Her glare seemed to soften but anger still bubbled under the surface of her eyes as she turned to face Ron.

"No Ronald, everything is not _okay_" she hissed again.

"Do you want to talk about it?", asked a now composed Harry.

Hermione immediately rounded on him. "Oh, so now you want to talk?", she asked in a mocking tone, "that strange, because you didn't want to talk to me about it when it happened on Thursday now did you?". Harry opened his mouth to speak but Hermione cut him off. "Of course you wouldn't talk to me about it though would you...I mean, I only took an unknown potion which made me turn into a child, and then took me to Snape and then left me alone...but why on earth would any of that concern me? Please, do enlighten me." She panted slightly as she finished off her rant and realised that the biting sarcasm in her voice was not unlike the tone that Snape used on his students. She almost groaned at the thought of being in the same classroom with him again.

Both boys seemed at a loss for words, and their eyes flickered from each other back to Hermione. It was Harry who spoke first.

"'Mione, Snape _told us_ not to tell you". Ron nodded along in agreement like an excited puppy.

"What? Why would Snape ever say that?", questioned Hermione, the anger now gone from her voice, only to be replaced with disbelief and incredulity.

"He said it was, and I quote _in everyone's best interests_ if you didn't know. He said that you would probably be embarrassed and would be better off not knowing."

"Sent us a letter and all", piped in Ron.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Why on earth would Snape care what I felt? Since when as he ever given a toads ass about me?".

Ron shrugged and threw a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "He's a strange bloke", he advanced, dribbling milk on to his chin and wiping a hand lazily across his mouth.

"Regardless Hermione, we're really sorry, it wasn't right of us to keep it from you, we were only trying to protect you. You do see that don't you? We're still friends?" asked Harry, his voice sincere.

"I do. I'm sorry for going on such a rant. I was just angry. Snape didn't once mention about him sending you a letter. I just wonder why he did it". Her brow furrowed and she lent her chin down on to her forearms which were crossed on the table.

"You mean 'Sevvy'!" Ron chuckled quietly, a lopsided grin forming on his face although he kept his eyes solidly down towards his bowl. He began to shovel yet more mouthfuls of cornflakes into his mouth, which fell off his spoon back towards earth, splashing milk onto the table. Harry merely rolled his eyes at him and put a hand to his forehead. Trust Ron to make some inappropriate joke right after an argument that would most likely cause another one.

"What!", Hermione rounded on him.

"Nothing!"

"Ronald Weasley, tell me what you just said or god help me you will find a rather nice tail growing from your backside in time for our first lesson".

Ron spluttered on a mouthful of his breakfast, nearly choking. "Alright, alright" he held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. Sighing, he began to tell her about their walk back from town.

"When we got back from Hogsmeade, Snape was waiting for us, someone must have told him that we were late back. And then you saw him, and well, you kind of cried out".

"Cried out?", Hermione muttered, her eyes jerking back and forth between the two boys. "Cried out what?", she whispered, almost as if she didn't want to know the answer.

"You called him _Sevvy_" Harry finished, "and then you ran to him and, and, well you hugged him 'Mione".

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God". Hermione's forehead rested on the wooden table, her hair covering her face, banging it repeatedly against the wood in a soft thud, making the china jump and the rest of the Gryffindor's look at the trio strangely.

"I'm _never_ going to potions again. Ever. In fact, I'll have to drop out completely. Do you think Beauxbatons would accept me half way through the year?" she asked, bringing her head up. Harry was surprised to see that she appeared to be half serious.

"Look, Snape didn't kill you did he? You'll be fine", Harry tried to soothe her, placing a hand on her shoulder. But Hermione swung her legs from the bench, leaving the mountain of eggs and toast that had accumulated on her plate behind.

"I have to go", she said, before pacing out of the Great Hall.

Harry watched her go, sighing deeply. Looking back to Ron he kicked him sharply in the shins.

"Ow! What was that for!" Ron shouted, his mouth hanging open.

"Hermione's right. Do you _ever_ stop eating?" he laughed, rolling his eyes as his best friend grabbed at the remaining slices of bacon before they disappeared from their golden serving platters.

* * *

><p>Hermione say in a daze through the day's lessons, dreading the moment when the bell would strike and she would be forced to go to her last class of the day: Potions.<p>

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall sternly shouted at her in her high scottish voice. Hermione turned her eyes to the woman, startled. The tone the Professor had just used to call her was the same one that she used for when she caught Lavender and Paravti scribbling notes to one another, or when Ron sat doodling on his parchment, and then sending the silly drawings zooming around his page.

"That is the second time that I have asked you a question and the second time that you have not responded", she said in an austere tone, her eyes flinty and large. She had crossed her arms and appeared to be waiting for Hermione to answer, but instead the girl merely looked at her with her head cocked.

The professor sighed and looked exasperated. "I asked you to please explain the magical theorem behind transfiguring a crustacean into a pliable object".

Hermione nodded and her cheeks became flushed with embarrassment. "Although the head and thorax may be fused together, the body will be protected by a hard exoskeleton, which will prevent the complex molecules from being re-broken to then be reset in the process of transfiguration, especially difficult when creating a pliable object as all the bonds need to be broken, instead of perhaps one or two. The optimum time for transfiguration of a crustacean will be when the old shell is shed, the new skeleton being soft and pliable. In this case no bonds will need to be broken and the wizard or witch will need significantly less power to perform the transformation"

McGonagall nodded and turned away, still with the hard expression on her face. "In this lesson we will be transforming a Ranina Large Mouth Crab into a piece of wood, a relatively pliable material...".

Hermione slowly drifted away, and resumed her position staring out of the window and returned back to the problem that she was attempting to solve before she was interrupted: how to miss Potions.

* * *

><p>At the end of the lesson, only Hermione had successfully managed to transform her crab into a long piece of sandy coloured wood. Harry's was still the red colour of his crab and covered in hard lumps and bumps and Ron had decided that his crab looked much too like a spider for his own liking, and so had spent more time keeping it away from him than actually transfiguring it. The end result was a very angry crab with one wooden claw.<p>

The class packed up their bags and began to leave the classroom when Hermione heard a voice call out her name. Turning back around she realised that it was her head of house that her called her and walked back to stand in front of her desk in the now empty classroom.

McGonagall sat down in a hard wooden chair and and rubbed her face with weathered hands, massaging the point where her glasses rested upon her nose.

"Hermione, is everything okay, you weren't yourself today in class?"

Hermione fiddled at the straps of her bag. How could she tell her house that her five year old self went to see Professor Snape every night, whilst the adult Hermione practically accused him of being a rapist and a murdered and then fainted on his floor? Instead she settled for the easier answer of a simple nod of the head.

The elderly woman looked at her strangely before finally letting her go. Hermione gulped and turned around to head slowly out of the door. Her next class was potions. _Hopefully, with some luck, I'll fall down the stairs and then end up in the hospital wing instead_ she thoughts to herself as she made her way to the dungeons.

* * *

><p>She successfully navigated her way down the staircase without breaking any bones. Her talk with McGonagall and her slow walk had meant that the rest of her class had already entered the dungeon room and the corridor outside it was empty. Sighing, she made her way over to the entrance of the classroom and pushed open the door, immediately catching a diluted waft of whatever it was that she could smell on Snape's robes the previous night.<p>

There was a groan from the wooden benches as her classmates twisted in their seats to see who the latecomer was, all their eyes staring at the girl who suddenly looked very small in the doorway.

Snape was standing on his podium, his black robes pooling about his feet and his eyes long dark tunnels that glared menacingly at her. He crossed his arms, wand still in one hand, in a gesture funnily similar to the one that McGonagall had made not too long before.

"How nice of you to join us Miss Granger", Snape sneered. Hermione made as if to answer but Snape whipped up his hand. "I do not care for your excuses. Find a seat. Five points from Gryffindor." He turned back to the blackboard as Hermione slid in to her normal seat next to Neville, who gave her a small smile, half compassion, half 'thank God it wasn't me'.

* * *

><p>Throughout the rest of the lesson, Snape treated Hermione just the same as he always had, no worse, no nicer. And for once, Hermione was glad when he ignored her answer to a question, pleased when he snapped at her for her potion being more daffodil yellow than buttercup yellow. It meant that he wasn't offended at her, or angry, or paying any heed to the awkwardness of the night before.<p>

She kept her eyes down on the potion for the duration of the class, only glancing up to check the instructions on the whiteboard and instead keeping her eyes trained on the workbench where she cut her ingredients with as much care as one treats a new born baby. Not once did she meet the eye's of Snape, although there were times when she was sure that she could feel his black gaze on her as she prepared her ingredients and stirred her potions in precise circles of eight. Even when she bottled her final potion and set it on his desk, she still did not look up, and kept her eyes squarely on the floor in front of her.

Snape was pacing around around the classroom now, checking on those who hadn't finished, and those who would never finish, their 'potions' now stuck in solid crusting messes at the bottoms of their cauldrons. Every so often Snape would make a tutting noise and mumble 'terrible' and 'awful' under his breath, although fully aware that the whole class could hear him.

Finally he reached Neville, who cowered back as the man came closer to him and bent forward to look into his scorched cauldron.

"Is the sky green Mr Longbottom?", Snape asked in a mocking voice. Neville shook his head, keeping his eyes trained on his shoes.

"Is the grass blue?", again Neville shook his head.

"Tell me then Longbottom, now that we've establish that you are not, in fact, colour-blind, what bit of your small brain told you that this" he gestured to his cauldron which was full of a lumpy purple mixture "was yellow?".

Neville went to speak but it came out in a paralyzed squeak, which elicited a large laugh from the Slytherin section of the room. "Ten points from Gryffindor, for sheer incompetence", Snape hissed at him, moving round.

"See me after Miss Granger", he spoke quietly to Hermione, before stalking back to the front of his classroom and declaring all of the students 'the worst class he ever had the displeasure of teaching' before dismissing them.

* * *

><p>Hermione fiddled with her parchment and quills, taking an extra long time to clean out her cauldron so that by the time she had finished the rest of the class had left, including Harry and Ron who she had thrown a glance to to let them know that she wasn't coming with them. She didn't want the rest of her classmates, especially the Slytherins, to know that she was staying behind without actually being given a detention with the feared potions master.<p>

She stood waiting patiently whilst Snape gathered up the glass vials in front of him and set them to one side of the desk, and clearing the blackboard with a flick of his wand. When finally he seemed to have completed his tasks, he turned to Hermione, making sure to keep a good distance between them.

He seemed about to speak before thinking the better of it, turning instead to lock the door and mutter a muffilato spell under his breath. Hermione gasped when she realised that he had left his wand on the table and was performing wandless magic.

"Close your mouth child", Snape told her, but some of the harshness that seemed present in his voice during the lesson was gone.

Seemingly confident that their conversation could not be heard, Snape perched himself on one of the worktables and looked at the young girl who stood still and straight backed, her eyes still wide from watching him do wandless magic. It occurred to him that she had probably never seen it in practice before, having only actually read about the theory behind it. But he pushed this to the back of his mind and began.

"I wish for you to stay with your..._friends_ tonight", Snape drawled, sounding almost bored. "I wish to work off the answers that you gave me last night and to develop an anti-potion which should cure you of your ailment."

Hermione nodded. "I'm very grateful sir", she told him.

Snape inclined his head towards her slightly, his black hair falling across his cheeks. Hermione took it as an acceptance of her thank you, but also a sign for her to leave. She swung her bag on to her shoulder and walked to the door, slipping around the side. But thinking the better of it, she stepped back inside the classroom. "Sir?".

Snape looked back around from where he was walking to the back of his classroom, presumably to go back to his chambers. "Yes Miss Granger?". He seemed rather weary and tired. No wonder, Hermione thought to herself, she had kept him up all night last night.

"I just- well- I really am... thank you Sir...for everything".

Snape seemed to stiffen even so slightly, as if actual gratitude towards him was completely unheard of. But he did not say anything and merely looked at her with a blank expression on his face.

"Goodnight Professor", and with that Hermione slipped back out of the classroom, shutting the door behind her as she went.

* * *

><p>.<p>

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**_A/N_**

Hey guys! Thank you also _so so so _much for your reviews! I love waking up in the morning and seeing the alert in my inbox! I've made this a long(ish) chapter as I won't be able to update for a while. I'm going to Creamfields tomorrow for the long weekend (for all you non-Brits its a dance/house music festival held in Cheshire), and then have friends coming down to stay afterwards and theeen off for the weekend for my 21st birthday celebrations!

I've also finally worked out the plot of this story (well at least half way!). I was kind of just making it up as I went along, after deciding to change the story from a one shot. However I realised that I was just getting muddled so actually sat down and formulated a nice story plan :). I've had a review asking me to please not make this a romantic pairing between the two. I have another story which I will repost once this one is completed which is not a romantic pairing, so I was quite keen to try out this genre, however nothing is set in the stone, just seeing where the story goes really. However, what are everyone else's views? Romantic, not romantic, friends!

**Please let me know what you think and review :)**


	13. Chapter 13

The night had passed in an uneventful way, and when Hermione woke in the morning, she found herself comfortably rested. She gave a small smile to herself thinking that she had actually gained some control over her night time activities, albeit a small one. It had been Ron's idea to use the Room of Requirement which they had silently slipped into using the invisibility cloak. Whereas before the room had been decked out for the purposes of the DA, the magic had recognised their needs and transfigured its contents.

There had been three beds placed at one end of the room made of gleaming gold and soft feather pillows. A large sofa stood to one side, in front of a heavy portrait of a roaring fire, which all three students were happy to find out gave out as much warmth as the actual thing itself. At first Hermione had been confused as to why the room did not simply create a real fireplace, but after Harry had explained her actions on the first night, and she had once again gotten over her embarrassment, she was astounded and astonished at the magic that the room possessed.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had snuggled up on to the sofa, finding large fluffy blankets in a chest in the corner of the room, laughing and talking about old jokes and fun times from their first years. Indeed, now a sufficient time had passed to actually laugh about the incident with the troll, with Ron even standing and stooping his back to mimic it's actions, transfiguring the leg off one of the beds into a large wooden club and dragging it across the floor, grunting and groaning as he went.

When Hermione had launched into a fit of high pitched giggles, and declared "Won" an "ucky boy", Ron and Harry had come prepared. They had handed Hermione a vial of Dreamless Sleep and within minutes she was asleep on one of the beds. Both boys kept it in turns to stay awake and watch over their best friend, sometimes playing a game of wizard chess to keep themselves alert .

All three had crept back to the common room early in the morning, Hermione being back to her normal self, and had launched themselves back into bed to enjoy a few more hours of precious sleep before the school day began.

* * *

><p>Hermione had spent her free periods catching up on her homework and reading, and by the time the bell for lunch had sounded she had completed her work for the week for Transfiguration, History of Magic, and most importantly, Potions.<p>

She had spent extra time on her Potions essay, more time that she normally would have given the subject. Instead of just referencing the footnotes that she found in her Advanced Potions Guide, she had actually sought out the various articles and quoted from them, noting down their various arguments for the correct stirring method for the Wolfsbane potion and then forming a conclusion of her own. It had taken most of her lunch break and she planned to tighten up her writing later on that night.

Hermione had always spent longer, and put more effort in, to her essays for the subject. Yet the grades that she received were always lower than subjects which she had invested far less endeavour to. It was predominantly for this reason that she tried harder in Potions, to improve her grade from an A to an O, so that it matched the rest of her lessons.

However this time when she had set her pen to paper her first thought was not to get a top grade, no that was just a means to an end, instead her motivation had rested on her black haired Professor. She wanted to impress him. To prove that she had what it takes, although she wasn't sure what she was trying to prove to him she could be. A student? An apprentice? A friend?

More?

She had read through her essay countless times, trying to picture him reading it aloud, his velvet voice gliding over the words, forming them on his tongue and rolling them out of his thin lips, precisely, pronouncing every syllable with a masculine force, as if every single letter demanded attention.

When Hermione came across a word that she could not imagine the man saying, she would change it to one which she could, scratching out the old word with force, creating numerous black slashes across her page. Despite all her efforts though, she could not stop her mind from wandering, so that her gaze moved softly to the windows, looking down onto the snowy courtyard bellow, until she shook herself and tried to focus herself back to the piece of parchment in front of her.

_The Wolfsbane potion attempts to reduce the anabolic effects of testosterone which includes a growth of muscle mass and strength so that the change provoked by lycanthropy will be lessened to a degree that is more easily handled_

_"Muscle mass and strength_". Snape's arms had held her with strength when he had helped her up from the floor, and when her fingers had enclosed around his forearms for balance she had felt the muscular tendons beneath the surface of his coat, and she flexed her fingers subconsciously under the desk when she thought back to how her fingers were no way near to meeting around his arm. Rubbing at her own forearm, she picked back up her pen and tried to turn her attention back to her essay, the nib of her quill hovering above the words as she continued to read.

_Lycanthropy predominantly affects the hormones in the subject's brain, causing it to produce extra amounts of the male hormone, which forms a potent new chemical when it reacts with the surplus supplies of the donor saliva which remains in the system once the subject has been bitten. The new chemical, an endogenous morphine, is released into the blood from the pituitary gland and into the spinal cord and brain from hypothalamic neurons, causing an increase in muscle mass, and disinhibiting dopamine pathways which also serve as pathways for the 'magicus vigoris'. The subject will lose all control of the cerebrum and the subject will exert dominant animalistic deportment._

_"Dominant"_. He had told her what to do, where to sit, what to say and what to do. Hermione felt a tingle down her spine as she thought of the man who was so sure of himself, to assertive and masculine. Her brain flitted images to her of times in his classroom when he had ordered her to answer him or come to his desk and now she felt an exciting shiver at the prospect of him telling her to do something.

* * *

><p><em>"Stay after class Miss Granger", drawled Snape without even looking up from the sheet of parchment he was marking with red ink.<em>

_Hermione had been dreading this moment. Never before had she answered back to a teacher in her life and now in the space of half an hour she had not only contradicted the feared potions master ,and no doubt earned herself a month of detentions, but actually insulted him beyond anything before. Snape had already taken 100 points from her house for her untoward behaviour, but now he was asking her to stay after class and she cringed with nervous energy._

_The door to the dungeon room swung shut, creating a small draft through the room, shuffling the papers on a nearby desk so that one swirled in a tight circle and landed at Hermione's feet._

_Hermione fingered the strap of her bag nervously and approached the desk which Snape sat behind. He had still not looked up and all that could be heard was the scratching of his quill on the parchment. Hermione thought it better to simply wait until he was finished instead of downright asking what it was he wanted, so she stood for at least five minutes, now leaning slightly against one of the wooden desks and gazing towards a dark stain on the stone floor, where a careless student had spilled a potion long ago._

_Suddenly Snape threw down his pen and glared up at her, raising to his feet in one steady motion. Hermione jumped and launched herself away from the desk so that Snape could not see that she had let herself be the slightest bit at ease for even the shortest time._

_The dark man towered over her, and his eyes pierced fiery lines through her skin. Hermione flinched away from him but still he moved closer until he was only inches away._

_"Well well, so Miss Granger finally has something to say which she hasn't found in the library" he sneered at her, his look one of derision and contempt._

_"I'm sorry Sir, I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me", Hermione stammered, looking down to the ground and hanging her head so that she would not have to meet his gaze which awed and terrified her at the same time._

_Why had she said it? Why, why why? She had been tired and Ron had annoyed her that morning, and she had even snapped at Neville. But why in Gods name had she talked to a teacher like that? She wished that she could have unwound time, stepped back into the very moment and simply shut her mouth and allowed her emotions to flow into her potion, rather than turn it into a sharp insult on her tongue._

_A part of her told her that it was him who started it, he shouldn't have been so mean, so condescending and patronizing. He had smiled disparagingly at her on seeing her potion which was too viscous, and too red, and he had taunted her._

_"You couldn't make a good potion even if you tried"._

_Hermione stiffened and wished beyond anything that she could go back again to that moment, back again to simply shut up and be quiet. Either that, or she wished a giant hole would appear in the middle of the classroom and swallow her up whole. But nothing happened, and she still stood before Snape, cowering away from him and his smouldering glare._

_"Would you like to tell me what you said Miss Granger?" he slurred at her in a dangerous voice, obviously enjoying the fear that he was stirring in the young girl._

_Hermione shook her head violently and continued to stare at the floor. She wouldn't, couldn't, possibly say it again, have to relive the moment of extreme mortification ._

_"I don't think you understand Miss Granger, that wasn't a request, it was an order. Tell me again what you said to me" he commanded her, moving even closer forward so that she could feel his warm breath on her skin._

_Hermione opened her mouth to speak but no words came out, only silence and shame._

_Snape's arm appeared with lightening speed, like a snake pouncing on its prey. He grasped her chin in his large hand and forced her head up._

_"Look at me" he sneered at her. "Tell me...what. Did. You. Say?". He punctuated each word ferociously, causing Hermione to flinch at every pause. Still she did not look, and he cupped her chin tighter so that his fingers digged painfully into her jaw. She gasped and looked into his eyes which were hard and full of an emotion which Hermione could not quite pin._

_"I said, said, I said... You c-couldn't get a w-woman, e-even if y-you tried"._

_To her surprise Snape smirked at her, a smirk full of venom and malice. "Oh, I think you underestimate me Miss Granger" he sneered, releasing her chin but not stepping backwards even an inch. "I think that I can get any woman I want". He stroked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture which might be thought sweet and loving, had it not been for his cold glare. "Even you"._

_Hermione stiffened and her eyes grew wide, trying desperately to distance herself from the man, her buttocks pushing against the wooden desk in the hope of withdrawing from the man who stood before her. But the desk stayed put and did not budge._

_"I see you. I see your lust, your desire. You want me", he whispered in to her ear, his breath warm against her cheek, causing the skin to prickle with not just embarrassment. His mouth was only centimeters away from her face and he quickly closed the gap, pressing his lips against her throat, kissing the milky white skin of her neck. Hermione gasped at not only the potion master's unexpected actions, but at the feeling she felt in her stomach that moved along her spine and spread across her skin. She liked it._

_And he was right. She did want him._

_His lips moved roughly over her neck and down to her collarbone, his long fingers yanking off her school tie and ripping the soft material of her shirt to one side, so that a number of buttons popped off the front, exposing to Snape a small peek at the white lace of her bra._

_Snape's hand had moved around to the back of her neck, and he held her head in a vice like grip. He brought up his neck and immediately Hermione missed the feel of his lips brushing over her skin, setting it on fire as he went. His eyes were still cruel, but now they were filled with a lust that made Hermione's gut squirm._

_His fingers gripped her even harder and she gasped with pain. "You have been a naughty girl. A very naughty girl indeed. Do you know what I do with bad girls like you?"._

_Hermione shook her head, but felt every inch of her being wanting to draw closer to him, wanting to feel his rough lips once again on her skin, wanting his black eyes to devour her body._

_Taking his hand away he placed it under her buttocks and and lifted her roughly on to the desk that she had been pressed against, so that she was sitting on top of it, her legs straddled around either side of him._

_Hermione let out a groan as his hand moved down her shoulders and his fingers traced the line of her collarbone. He hooked a long forefinger around the top of her shirt and brought it sharply away, causing the remaining buttons to clatter to the floor, jumping and rolling away under desks and into corners. The remains of the shirt hung open around her torso, and Snape pulled violently at the material so that she was left with just her lace white bra on her top half._

_Hermione had never been filled with a lust and a want like this. Now she realised that the affection she felt towards Ron was just that, affection, nothing more. She had sometimes wanted to reach out, to touch his hand, to have him hold her and wrap his strong arms protectively around her, to lean her head against his shoulder and for him to stroke her hair. But this was something more. She wanted the man before her with every fibre of her being. She felt like a magnet being drawn towards it's polar opposite. She cared for nothing else in the world except for the man before her and her conscious had been drowned out in a wave of furious desire._

_His hands rested either side of her, and he slowly moved them so that they were placed on either side of her body, wrapping around her front and back. She let out another moan as his thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts, causing shock waves through her body._

"Hermione dear, are you okay? You look a little flushed".

Hermione's head snapped up to look into the eyes of the Madame Pince. Her cheeks were flushed a furious red and her mouth was as dry as parchment. She nodded quickly to the school librarian, trying to find some words, any words, to answer her.

The woman looked at her strangely before seeming to shrug it off. She held out a small leather bound book to Hermione who took it with a shaking hand. "It's the collection of articles that you asked for on Animagus forms", she told the girl. "It took a bit longer to find as it had not been placed back in the right place. Students think they can just do what they want...", she trailed off and turned away, still muttering to herself about disrespectful children.

Hermione watched her as she went before suddenly sprang into life, sweeping away the content of her desk in her bag, stuffing in stray pieces of parchment and library books, before standing and nearly knocking over her chair, and hurrying out the library.

* * *

><p>The afternoon has passed by in a blur and by the time Hermione's last class had finished, she had never been so glad to be making her way back up to the Gryffindor dormitory. As she did not have Potions class on a Tuesday and had heard nothing from Snape, she had planned to ask Harry and Ron to accompany her back to the Room of Requirement that night.<p>

Hermione flopped herself on to her bed, glad that she was alone in the room, all the other girls deciding to play out in the snow with the boys, acting foolishly around their crushes.

Hermione thought back to her day dream in the library and ran a hand through her hair which was beginning to turn into a matted mess from her constant tugging and pulling at it throughout the day, a sure sign at her frustration.

She couldn't believe that she had thought of her Professor in such a way, but then she could not believe how she had never seen him in the light that she now did. She closed her eyes but could still see his black eyes looking into hers, his robes billowing as he walked, his strong arms around hers.

She snapped open her eyes. Would this feeling ever go away? Would she ever be able to shut her eyes without seeing _that_ man again? Hermione knew that whatever she felt for the man wasn't real, it was simply a school girl crush, an infatuation with a tall, dark and mysterious man, but the emotions that squirmed in her stomach were anything but fake.

Why couldn't she feel like this when she thought about Ron?

She pictured him in her mind, laughing and talking with her, the freckles that were sprayed across his nose and cheeks dancing as his jaw worked, telling her about quidditch and Fred and George latest pranks, complaining about homework and teachers. His hair would fall down across his eyes, and he would flick it away with gangly fingers. Hermione found herself smiling to an empty room at the man child in her mind, and she felt her heart warm at the thought of him wrapping an arm protectively around her shoulders.

But although it warmed, it did not burst into flames as it did when she was thinking about Snape. She could not picture, even when she tried, Ron asserting a blazing lust over her, his actions assured and confident. He could not imagine him pushing her back against a school desk, his lips tracing over the delicate contours of her body, his hands-

_Stop it!_ Hermione chided herself. These little games she was playing in her mind were foolish and would lead to the wrong outcome. It was always supposed to be her and Ron. Mrs Ronald Weasley. And she was supposed to hate Snape, the feared bat of the dungeons who lurked around in the shadows, who no one was ever sure was good or bad.

There was a soft rapping at the window and Hermione sat up in bed to look to where the noise was coming from. An owl stood on the perch of the window sill, looking inquisitively in, it's head cocked and eyes wide, eager to get out of the snow that had just started to fall.

Hermione swung her legs out of the bed and padded over to the window, opening it so that the owl could hop in. It's plume was a chocolate brown, with splashes of white splayed across its back, its beak a dirty yellow, that now nuzzled into Hermione's arm, finding warmth. It was a school owl and Hermione's heart fluttered when she saw the small note that was folded to it's talon, and caught a glimpse of the green calligraphy across its front.

She took the parchment from the owl's leg, and gave it a gentle shove out of the window. It seemed reluctant to move out from the warmth of the room, but finally took off silently, gliding through the snow which was now falling thick and heavy so that the bird was lost to Hermione's eyes within seconds.

She shut the window again and brushed off a number of stray snowflakes that had fallen on her sleeve and hair as she had leaned out of the window, and which were already beginning to melt against her warm skin.

Finding her way back over to the bed, Hermione settled herself amongst the cushions and took a deep breath before opening up the parchment which had been folded into a small square. She immediately recognised Snape's perfect handwriting, written in beautiful loops and swirls, but still small and perfectly contained. The emerald ink stood out against the white parchment and Hermione caught a whiff of a spicy aroma. She began to read.

_Miss Granger,_

_Please come to the dungeons at precisely seven pm tonight. Do not be late._

_Professor S. Snape_

The note had been short, but Hermione drank in the words like a parched man, her eyes lingering over his signature, the gentle bends that the 'S' made, the curl of the letter that was delicately weaved into the parchment.

Folding the note back into a careful square, she pocketed it and looked at her watch. It was four o'clock and she felt a nervous anticipation at once again seeing the man who had been in her thoughts all day, except this time, it would be in the flesh.

* * *

><p>Hermione had braided her golden hair, but had been too nervous to still her shaking hands, so that pieces of hair still flew out from the crown of her head. She had gone to put on a jumper, but her mind could not escape from its earlier fantasy, and so she had placed on a white shirt with green skirt, accompanied with a thin knitted cardigan and black woolen tights.<p>

She arrived at the dungeon rooms early, not wanting to be late, but nor did she want to seem too eager, and so she waiting silently in the corridor outside the door, trying to count all the stones in one section of the wall to pass the time. But her mind kept skipping and jumping with distraction so that she would miss out stones, or forget which number she was on, and so she would start again with the bottom corner and move steadily upwards.

When her wrist watch showed that it was exactly seven, Hermione had turned nervously to the door and knocked, meaning it to come out as a confident sound, but instead it simply sounded gentle and nervous in the vast space of the dungeons.

"Come in", called a voice from inside, and Hermione's chest leapt at the sound of it.

She pushed open the door and her eyes immediately found Snape, sitting as he was in her dream, behind the desk. Now that she was here she felt extremely nervous and her palms were clammy.

"I told you to arrive for precisely seven o'clock Miss Granger. Is there a reason that you saw fit not to adhere to this?", he jeered at her, still sitting behind the desk, his fingers folded and placed on the desk and his eyes searching her face for the discomfort that now settled there.

Hermione was confused as she pulled up the sleeve of her cardigan to look at her watch which read seven o'clock exactly. Was it wrong?

"Sir?" she asked him, her brow furrowing.

"You have been loitering around outside my classroom for the past twenty minutes Miss Granger". Hermione's mouth opened with shock. She was sure that she had not made any noise and yet he had known. The man was truly extraordinary.

Snape sighed to himself and rose from his chair. "Sit", he gestured to a chair behind one of the tables at the front of the class which Hermione slid in to, letting her satchel drop to the floor beside her.

He turned to his supply cupboard and Hermione watched him carefully, taking in his every move. Her stomach twisted as she surveyed his broad back, made even more masculine by the yolk of his robes which gathered into a river of black material which flowed in robust pleats down the length of his back.

His strides were long and purposeful and she marveled at his grace as he walked. It was not the slow gangly walk of Ron, or the nervous short steps of Harry. This was a man who was sure of himself and sure of his actions.

Hermione blushed as Snape turned back to her, holding something in his hand that glinted in the candlelight that fell from the walls. He placed it on the desk in front of her before turning back to his chair and once again knitting his hands together, reclining ever so slightly, an action which Hermione had never seen him do once before whilst he was teaching.

"This is a potion which I have been brewing all night and which I believe will alleviate your symptoms and cause the remnants of whatever potion is left in your system to disappear", he explained to her.

Hermione felt a flutter in her chest when she realised that he had stayed up all night to finish the potion for her, and now she realised that his shoulders drooped slightly, and his eyes looked weary and tired. Her affections for the man were growing and she tried to push them away to clear her mind and listen to what Snape was saying to her.

"- take it before the change, as it is designed to work in such a way whilst the original potion is dormant".

Hermione nodded and looked up at him, waiting for whatever it was he would say next. But Snape merely looked at her, frowning as the time progressed.

"Well go on then. I don't have all night".

"Oh, now?", asked Hermione, experiencing a sinking feeling in her chest as she realised that the man did not want to spent more time with her. Once she took this potion, it would cure her, and she would only ever see him in class, back to being his student, and back to him being her teacher. Perhaps she could misbehave in his class, serve detention with him, but this was not her, and she was torn between impressing him and spending time with him.

"I see no reason why not", Snape answered back, watching her closely as she took out the stopper from the small vial.

The liquid was brown in colour and seemed of a similar consistency to water. Hermione brought it to her lips, catching a scent of mint, before tipping the potion down her throat.

* * *

><p>Snape watched as the girl before him swallowed down the potion that he had spent all night brewing, and place the vial back down on the table. He briefly closed his eyes and felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment wash over him. He would never again have to see her outside the allotted classroom times, although he wasn't sure whether this was a good or a bad thing.<p>

The room was silent and he was about to open his mouth to excuse her, excuse her from his classroom, and his life, when he head a crash and a dull thud.

His eyes shot open and he looked in horror at the scene before him.

Hermione had fallen from her chair, brining down the glass vial so that it had smashed in splinters around her, crystal tear drops strewn over the ground.

The girl herself was writhing on the ground, her limbs making strange jerking movements and her body spasming in violent convulsions. Her eyes had rolled back so that only the whites of her eyes were showing, and her mouth was frothing and open. She was a deathly white colour and her lips had begun to turn a dull shade of blue.

Snape swung into action, standing with such force that his chair was knocked backwards and fell with a clatter to the ground behind him. But he did not hear it. Pulling open a draw with vigour he rummaged through its contents, growling to himself that the draw was not more organised. Finally he found what he was looking for, a small green box. He threw its lid off and unwrapped it's contents from its greasy paper, to reveal a small uneven stone, a grayish white in colour.

He closed the space between himself and the girl in only a few long strides and kneeled to the ground next to her. Her body was still convulsing but the spasms was loosing strength, although Snape knew that this was not a good thing. It did not mean that it was stopping, it meant that she was dying.

He tried to catch his head with his free hand but it still tossed and turned from side to side, and he could not manage to grab her head and pry open her mouth. Making a quick decision instead he moved to kneel behind her, so that he was sitting behind her head.

He brought himself forward, opening his legs so that her head rested between them, before clenching his strong thighs shut, holding her head in a vice like grip so that it was still, although her eyes still remained rolled to the back of her head and her eyelids fluttered with force.

With his free hand Snape now forced Hermione's locked jaws open and crammed in the Bezoar stone. He massaged her throat in hard circles, creating the reflex that would make her body automatically swallow.

After what seemed like hours, but what was in reality only a few minutes, Hermione's body lay limp on the cold stone floor, her head still resting between Snape's legs.

Trying to remain calm, although his insides were frantic with worry, Snape moved back to Hermione's side, placing two long fingers on the side of her neck. At first Snape felt nothing, and he thought his heart had shattered into a million pieces, breaking apart and tearing through his lungs so that he could not even breathe. But then in a heart stopping moment he had felt a faint beat under his fingers, an irregular, almost negligible pulse. Snape could have sang.

He gathered the girl up in his arms, holding her protectively to his chest, and made his way to the door to his chambers, his heart in his hands.

* * *

><p>.<p>

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_**A/N**_

I've been looking forward to writing all week and finally, yey, the next chapter is done! I didn't originally intend for it to be this long, and actually, I only covered half of what I wanted in this chapter! But although I wanted to give everyone a nice long chapter after the long delay, I personally get bored when i'm reading chapters that are too long! But I'm going to start writing the next one now so that it will be ready for tomorrow :).

Thank you again to all those who have reviewed and made an alert for the story! Thank you also to those who have reviewed this story for the first time, and those who review each chapter! You guys give me the motivation to write, without which, this story would still be a one shot!

So again, **_Thank you! And please review :)_**


	14. Chapter 14

Snape laid Hermione down against the crisp black cotton sheets of his own bed, realising once he had let go of her that his normally steady hands shook slightly. He sat down, perched on the edge of the bed next to the sleeping girl.

Her complexion was still a deathly white although Snape was relieved to see a faint tinge of pink beginning to form on her cheeks. Small beads of sweat clung to the hair on her forehead, making it damp and causing it to lie flat against her skin. Snape brushed the hair away, pushing it behind her ears, frowning when he realised that she was still cold. Moving his hand away he took her limp fingers in his own, feeling them icy to the touch.

He realised that her heart had drawn the blood away from her extremities, trying to keep it's vital organs warm. It was quite possible that she could have suffered organ failure, and even died as a result, and Snape shivered involuntarily at the thought. Never in his life had he made such a mistake to one of his own potions to cause it to have this kind of effect on someone. But still the guilt had set in, and settled in his chest like a swollen balloon, a very large elephant in the middle of his mind.

Hermione let out a small noise from beside him and his black eyes flinched towards her, although her own remained firmly shut. The moment of panic that Snape had felt before had overwhelmed him and he had felt his emotions take control of his brain as it went into a frenzy of thoughts, a spiral of downward irrelevance, as if he were trying to catch a thought in a very large and very stormy ocean, and it kept slipping from him as he tried to work out what to do.

He had managed to gain back control over his brain, and now set it to work in a logical way, casting his thoughts into a linear stream. Although his hands still shook, he busied himself with checking over the unconscious girl. His expert hands caressed her skin, turning her arms gently to assess for any damage, slowly moving them around to her head where his fingertips scanned for any lumps or grazes. He frowned when they passed over a small raised area where she had evidently hit her head on the stone dungeon floor, but upon realising that it was nothing major he laid her head gently back down to the pillow, her hair splaying around her like a golden crown.

Thus far, Snape had been sitting at her side, looking over her upper torso with delicacy and care, but now he moved down to her legs, meaning to give them a cursory glance over, embarrassed by the intimacy of the situation. But when his eyes drew over the fine black material he noticed a rip behind her knee, that was only visible the slightest bit, and probably would not have been noticeable to less observant eyes.

Snape gently rolled Hermione on to her side, making sure to keep her chin raised and her airway open. He could now see that the black material had been ripped cleanly away, and a strip of blood was formed on her pale skin, the edges of that sliced away in a clean straight line. The Professor squinted his eyes when he caught sight of something buried deep into the cut, something which glinted as the light changed in the flickering fire. It was a part of the crystal vial that had smashed when it was knocked to the floor.

Snape contemplated taking out his wand and accio'ing the shard of crystal to him, but knit his brows together when he realised that doing so would most probably tear an even bigger gash in her skin. He would have to remove it manually.

The thought of taking the slither out of Hermione's leg scared him and he drew away from it so that he rose from the bed. But it was not the thought of the blood or the damaged leg that offended his senses. Snape had never been the squeamish type, and even if he had once been, the Death Eater's would have seen that that fear would be quashed fairly soon into the membership.

What Snape was most frightened of was removing the stockings off the unconscious girl.

He felt himself beginning to sweat under his heavy teaching robes and wiped a hand through his hair, his face expressionless, but his eyes portraying the panic that was passing through him.

He shrugged off the robes, laying them across the end of the bed. Hesitating for a second more, he took off his frock coat, so that he stood in a simple white shirt and black trousers. No student had ever seen him in such a simple attire and Snape almost felt naked in the presence of a student dressed without the many layers of heavy, thick material.

But the student in front of him could not see him, her eyes had still not opened and although her skin was regaining some colour, her breathing was still shallow and irregular. Snape berated himself for thinking about how conscious he felt in front of her, instead of actually tending to her and her injury.

He left the room in quick strides, returning only a minute later with a small leather bag which he set on the table beside the bed. Opening it he pulled out a few bottles of potions, and some small silver, tweezer-looking clamps. Taking out his wand he performed a cleaning spell on the instrument, so that it sparkled, light dancing over it and making the metal surface shimmer in a liquid ripple.

Snape carefully undid his cuff buttons, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt with careful precision. Folding it once. Twice. Three times.

"Stop stalling Severus", he muttered to himself, but he felt himself beginning to sweat again, beads falling along his hairline and down his temples.

He sat once again on the side of the bed and rolled Hermione back towards him, her form still limp like a large doll. Her eyes remained closed and her skin was a milky white, a pale sheen of sweat over the surface of her face, hair clinging to her cheeks in wet tendrils. But despite her ill state, Snape had never seen her so beautiful and he took a sharp breath when he saw her porcelain skin, her golden eyelashes, the way her neck arched, and his eyes could not help but follow the flowing lines to the smooth bend of her collarbone, disappearing underneath the white cotton of her shirt.

A low growl escaped from the man's closed lips. He was not making this any easier for himself and even thought he knew that he was ultimately helping the girl, he could not help but feel that he was taking advantage of her vulnerable form. His gut squirmed uncomfortably, and he felt sick with the thought of having to undress the girl in front of him, who was surely, still a child. If he felt bad taking off her sopping coat when she stood alive and comfortable in front of him, this was a different situation entirely.

* * *

><p><em>The air was fresh after the newly fallen spring rain, which clung like teardrops to the green grass. The large orb of the moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows in the already dark field, so that the trees became taller and the darkness held strange and hideous things.<em>

_But against the darkness of the night and the shadows, there stood an even darker mass, one that swayed and moved in an undulating wave, emanating terror and fear._

_The crowd of Death Eaters listened intently to their Master, as he talked about bloodlust, and purity. He was the savior of the wizarding world, he told them, his voice hissing and parting the wind like a rock in a river. Muggles were the inferior creatures of the world, he explained to them, they were nothing but play things, toys to bend to the wishes of superior beings._

_He clicked his fingers, a sound that resonated from the thick ancient trees that stood around the group of black swathed figures, who jeered and hissed at the appropriate places, their eyes filled with disgust and hatred, the whites glowing in the darkness like cats eyes._

_Immediately a stooped man came forth, his lanky hair falling in tails down his hunched back, greasy locks shining in the moonlight. He smelled of rot and mildew and a number of the tall figures took a step backwards, disgust all too apparent on their hooded faces. The man's features drew into a lopsided smile, his lips cracked, flakes of skin split and broken, drawing back to reveal only a few yellow teeth which were twisted in his mouth like strange rocks hewn into a hillside._

_"My Lord", he bowed, speaking in a nasally voice, so that his large hooked nose came even closer to the floor in front of him._

_The leader of the group looked at him with black, pitiless eye, his expression pulled into one of disgust for the sniveling creature before him. "Summon It, Wormtail", he commanded, power infusing his voice as he sneered at the broken man before him._

_The man named Wormtail nodded and turned to a break in the circle of Death Eaters, the grin on his face growing. Pulling out a crooked wand he pointed it out, his arm straight and rigid, before drawing it into him as if reeling in a fish on a line._

_From out of the darkness came a high pitched cry that grew louder, but sounded as thought it was muffled, as though whoever it came from had been gagged._

_Soon it was clear what made the noise._

_A woman had been dragged in to the middle of the circle, her limbs bound with a thick brown rope and a line of dirty and filth stained material wound tightly around her head, so that it entered her mouth and pushed her tongue backwards. She appeared to be being dragged forward by the force of the spell, so that her left leg was extended into the air as if it were being pulled by an invisible being._

_Finally, Wormtail's spell let her go and she collapsed on to the ground, her hair wet with the morning dew, her face pressed in to the cold hard ground._

_"Look at this pathetic creature", the leader hissed, "look at its fear, its weakness. It is nothing". The group booed and jibed at his words. "Muggles must be...exterminated. But first, let us have some fun", a thin smile spread across his face, the whites of his eyes no longer showing, only bottomless pits of sable black. "I think that we should let the newest member of our group have this one, a... welcome ceremony of sorts", he smirked, turning to his side to face the young man, who stood a head higher than the wizard and witch next to him._

_"Come Severus. Come and claim your prize"._

_The young man stepped forward, a small step as if he were unsure of himself. His expression was set and conveyed no emotion, but his eyes were unsure and he seemed wary of the group that stood around, all eyes on him._

_He took a deep breath and let the words of the Dark Lord sink in. Muggles were scum. Why did they deserve to live? Scum of the earth. Dirt. Muggle borns too. All of them, foul, loathsome little creatures. She had broken his heart. He would make her pay. He would make them all pay._

_He strided froward in deliberate steps, his eyes no longer unsure, but now full of rage and anger, flashing deadly in the light of the moon._

_He sank to his knees below the woman, flipping her over swiftly so that she faced him. She let out a groan as she realised what was about to happen, and her eyes pleaded with him, pleaded with him to stop, to not continue, to let her go._

_Snape's resolve almost faltered looking in to her eyes. But they were all watching him, expecting something terrible and great of him. He had to impress his new peers and most importantly, the Dark Lord. He raised his fist and brought it down heavily against the side of her face, so that it lolled to the side and she fell unconscious for only a few seconds, before waking up and turning back to the man that pinned her to the ground. "Don't even look at me you filth", he hissed at her, watching the line of crimson blood slowly trickle down her skull and past her temples, so that it stained her brown hair._

_The crowd around him clapped and jeered, stamping their feet and hissing through their teeth. Once again the woman turned to him, trying to beg with her eyes, but Snape ignored her, instead turning to Wormtail._

_"Undo her bonds and her gag", he ordered. A wave of relieve passed over the woman's face, he was going to let her go, set her free. "I want to watch her squirm", he sneered. Immediately the woman began to struggle and moan, the panic in her eyes almost palpable._

_Her bonds loosened and fell to the ground and she tried to squirm backwards. But Snape had pinned her limbs to the ground with his legs and hands. She let out a cry and he brought down his fist once again. Hard. "Be quiet" he ordered her, and she whimpered in pain and fright._

_Bringing down a hand he teared at the material of her tights, pulling up her skirt to reveal bare flesh in the moonlight. Snape had never done this before, he had never gotten any closer to a woman than the kiss he had once shared with... her. Lilly. The woman who had betrayed him and smashed his heart into pieces._

_He growled in rage, his mind overtaken with fury, and pushed down his trousers, positioning himself over her, the tattered remains of her clothing left lying on the grass around them._

_"Please" she whispered desperately, but Snape blocked her out, placing a hand firmly over her mouth for extra measure._

_She struggled underneath him but still he pinned her down with his strong arms. He hated to admit to himself that he enjoyed this, he enjoyed the fight, and this girl, no this...thing, underneath him, it was nothing, it didn't deserve to be here. And he would destroy her, just like she had destroyed him._

_Her muffled screams wracked the night air as Snape ripped out her dignity, her virtue and her life, leaving her limp and ragged on the wet ground, blood spilling down her pale skin and soaking into the sodden soil._

* * *

><p>It was her eyes that he remembered. Her eyes. He saw them every time he closed his own. They had been deep pools of brown, flecks of gold infused in her iris's, underneath heavy eyelashes. She had pleaded and he hadn't listened; hadn't even cared.<p>

Snape shuddered and felt his skin prickle with disgust. He hated himself. Truly hated himself for everything that he had done.

That girl, the first girl, she must not have been much older than Hermione. She would have had parents, and friends, perhaps even a boyfriend, but most importantly, she had had a life.

And he had taken that away from her.

His stomach swirled and Snape ran to the bathroom, retching and heaving dryly, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes.

* * *

><p>Snape appeared from the bathroom some time later, his composure now fixed on his face, his hair sodden from the constant splashes of water he had thrown onto his skin, icy cold water than chilled bone deep.<p>

Emerging, he found the girl still lying on his bed, against the dark night of the sheets she looked like a beacon, an angel, and Snape swallowed deeply, making his way back over to where she lay.

Sitting down next to her again, he steadied himself with a deep breath and placed a hand on her thigh, slowly pushing it up under the material of her skirt. His breath faltered and no sound could be heard as he slowly felt his way up the side of her leg, his fingers finally catching on the top of the tights that sat against her skin.

Using his free hand he gently placed it under her lower back, lifting up her body so that he could slide off the material, which came away smoothly down her legs. In turn, Snape picked up a delicate ankle, pulling the tights from her small feet, before letting them gently rest down back to the bed.

Rolling her on to her side again with as much care as he could muster, he blushed deeply when he found her skirt shift so that it revealed the soft curve of her buttocks as it met the top of her thigh.

Snape reddened even more when he felt as though he was staring, and another, even heavier wave of guilt washed over him. He quickly rearranged her clothing so that she was decent and set to work on cleaning out the cut, and reaching delicately in to collect the crystal shard, which came out easily against the slick blood and smooth surface.

Performing the rest of the cleaning and stitch up with his wand, Snape was relieved as he realised that he had completed his tasks, and let out a long breathe which up until that point, he had not realised he had been holding.

He left Hermione to sleep, but not before covering her with a thick emerald green blanket, tucking it in to her sides, and brushing her hair back from her face with a loving care.

* * *

><p>Snape sank heavily into a chair, slumping in a broken posture over his knees. He swam in the harbour of his discontent, the epoch of sin weighing heavily on him so that he felt he was drowning under his own conscience.<p>

He forgot about the world around him, his mind focusing only on the dark snippets of his past. What was, what could have been, and would would never be.

The memories and visions haunted him and a low guttural moan escaped from between his teeth as his hands tore at his hair and his eyes shut tightly fast, trying with vain to close himself off from what he once was.

He stayed this way for a while, his stance as still as black hewn obsidian. A heavy silence permeated the chambers, and the fire had died down in the hearth until it was no more than a few flickering embers in the darkness, that glinted from his eyes in shards of light when actually they opened.

When finally he arose from his deep slumber of his own misery, he looked around, as if only now noticing his surroundings. With a quick flick of his wand the fire roared back to life, casting away the long shadows that had formed, and the cold draft that had settled on the room.

Snape stood and made his way over to a corner of his bookshelves, that appeared to be filled with rows of black leather journals, tall and thin, stacked neatly and orderly. Bending down, Snape's fingers brushed over their spines, until it settled on one of the chronicles, hooking a finger over its edge and pulling it out with ease. He made his way back over to the armchair, sitting back down and opening up the pages, which crackled slightly as he flicked his way through to the page he was looking for towards the end of the volume.

The pages were a light yellow in colour, lined with a faint blue ink, and the same perfect script was regimented across the lines, that ran for page after page. It was small, tightly woven penmanship, that slanted ever so slightly to the right, and now Snape ran down a long finger, stopping and tapping the page.

He murmured softly under his breath as he read what was written there, what _he_ had written there only the night before. He read through his instructions, and then read through them once again, checking over his calculations, his timings. But he could find nothing wrong with the quantities used or the ingredients added. What had happened to turn the potion into such a violent and deadly poison?

Snape frowned to himself, his dark brows pulling down in an angry furrow, forming a dark cloud across his forehead. It was rare that Snape ever made a mistake, and even rarer for him to find a mistake that he could not fix, or at least know the root of.

He snapped the book shut and brought two fingers to his temples, closing his eyes as he massaged them in slow, steady circles.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise from the room adjacent; the bedroom. Snape's eyes flashed open and he stood with a start, letting the book that had been resting on his lap fall to the floor with a clatter. He strode towards the closed door, and with a flick of his wand it had been flung back on its hinges with a loud violent crash.

The crumpled form of Hermione Granger lay on the floor, weak arms trying to push themselves up as her legs laid sprawled useless across the floor.

Snape was immediately at her side, placing strong arms around her and drawing her up to place her back to the warmth of the bed.

She looked up at him with her large orb like eyes, brown pools that were full of fear and hurt.

"What happened?", she whispered, her voice cracked and hoarse so that Snape could barely make out her question.

He hung his head, his black hair forming a curtain around him, falling around his face so that it cast a shadow over it. Although Hermione could no longer see his expression, she felt the waves of shame rolling from him, and with his bent back and low chin she could see that he was a broken man. It frightened her even more to see this strong and powerful man so sad.

"I don't know", he answered back, speaking so softly that Hermione was not even sure she had heard him right.

Bringing his head up he looked her in the eyes, his now hard and full of determination.

"But I will find out".

He left the bedroom without another word, and Hermione was surprised at the absence of the billowing cloak that normally flew out from behind him. Instead, now she could see a crisp white shirt stretched over a broad back, and her heart almost caught in her chest. But she was still weary, feeling like she had just run some great distance, and slowly her eyelids fluttered and gravity took hold, and her soft breathing permeated the silence of the room.

* * *

><p>The journal laid splayed on the floor, its pages open where it has fallen. Snape bent down to pick it up, and as he pulled away a lone piece of parchment danced to the floor, lying face down. Placing the book onto a low table, Snape retrieved the single page, straightening again to read what was written.<p>

It was his recordings of the questions that he had asked Hermione.

His eyes scanned down the page, trying to pick up any clues as to her condition, which it was quickly becoming apparent was not some childish prank.

But nothing in particular stood out. The answers that the young girl had given were not helpful in any way. The fact that she could not remember anything from the time before she changed might be significant, but Snape could not use it to pin point any vital piece of information that he might have missed.

However there was something that did rile Snape's curiosity. He had asked her: 'do you feel anything unusual?', and she had replied with a strange answer, one that was not entirely known to Snape. She could smell 'swimming pools'. Swimming pools?

Having grown up in the muggle world, Snape was well aware of what such a thing was. In fact, they were an occurrence in the wizarding world also. Indeed, before the great fire of 1011, Hogwarts was rumoured to have one of its own, water feeding from the black lack into his rough stone basin.

But Snape had never stepped foot in one himself. His father did not allow his mother to work, and any money that he had given her was to be spent solely on food...not on fun trips out for mother and son. His father was scrupulous, checking over every penny spent; even one missing would result in a black eye. Besides, the bruises and marks that were left on his chest and back after the beatings from his father were not something he would ever have wanted to show off to the world.

Walking back to the room in which Hermione lay, Snape stood in the doorway, parchment in hand, his form black against the light which streamed in from behind him.

Hermione had fallen back asleep, her legs entwined in the blanket and her head resting just below the pillow, so that she was curled into a half fetal position. Snape surveyed her sleeping form for a moment, debating whether to leave her be. But this couldn't wait.

He walked over to the bed, extending a hand and placing it on her shoulder. He gently shook her but received no response.

"Miss Granger?", he spoke softly, still getting nothing. "Miss Granger?"

Snape hesitated.

"Hermione", he whispered.

The girl's bleary eyes opened slowly and Snape removed his hand, retreating back from the bed.

Hermione took stock of her surroundings once again and then turned to look at him carefully, trying to calculate what it was that he wanted, what kind of situation she was in.

Her earlier fears of the former death eater flooded back to her, except this time she felt a nervous flutter in her chest, akin to excitement. Would he walk back to her? Would he sit next to her? Would he even throw the covers around himself so that he laid next to her?

But the man did nothing, just stood still in the corner so that his form was caressed in shadow.

"Sir?", Hermione croaked. "What is it?".

Snape stepped forward slightly so that his face emerged from the gloom . It looked weary and tired and his normally stern expression had been replaced by one of defeat.

"I wondered if I may ask you a question Miss Granger?", Snape spoke slowly.

"Of course Professor".

Snape took another small step forward, and Hermione could not help but stare at his muscled arms as they came into focus, the way that his shirt material stretched over his biceps and drew tightly around his forearms, the muscles rippling as he moved.

"I collected some answers from you a previous night and one of them I believe needs explaining", he told her. "When in your...transformed state, your, shall we call it, other self, reported smelling the scent of a swimming pool". Hermione tried to stop her urge to laugh at Snape's expression, which was almost childlike in curiosity, and reminded her very much of Mr Weasley and his fascination with all things muggle.

"Would you please explain to me what this means?".

Hermione nodded and cleared her throat, a dry rattling cough. Before she could begin to speak, Snape quickly left the room, reappearing with a glass of cold water, which Hermione took in weak hands and drank eagerly, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth and setting down the glass with a clink on a bedside table next to her.

Snape had moved back to the corner of the room and was now staring at her intently, waiting for her to explain. Hermione nearly laughed again when she thought that _she_, Hermione Granger, was actually telling Severus Snape something that he didn't actually know! But she suppressed the laugh with a gulp, fearing that this strange man that stood before her would quickly revert back to his classroom form.

"Well Sir, the only swimming pools that I have been to have been man made, unlike the natural one that was once present at Hogwarts".

Snape scoffed quietly to himself. Of course she knew of the old pool at the castle.

She continued. "The chemical that is used to sanitize the water if what gives it its distinctive smell. What a strange thing it was for me to smell such a thing, I haven't been in one in years..." she trailed off, as if lost deep in thought.

"Do you know the chemical, Miss Granger?" asked Snape, drawing her from her own thoughts. Hermione's eyes turned to look at him.

"Yes Sir. It's Chlorine".

Snape went rigid for a moment, before flying from the room, so that a startled Hermione lay propped up in the bed, watching with wide eyes the space that Snape had just left.

* * *

><p>Hermione could hear Snape bustling around outside of the room, listening to the sound of random clinks and hurried movements. It sounded as those Snape was searching for something and when he finally entered the room, he was carrying a small black pill box. Muttering a spell under this breath the empty glass that stood at Hermione's bedside began to fill with water and he pushed it into her hands as she looked up at him confused.<p>

Unscrewing the lid off the box, he shook something onto his hand which he then handed to Hermione.

She picked it up between her thumb and forefinger, holding it up close to her face so that she could examine it. It was a small blue pill, an oval shape with a shiny coating that reflected the light of the room, so that she could see a tiny Snape on its surface.

Snape looked at her ferociously. "Take it now", he ordered her, his voice still sounding hurried and impatient.

Hermione hesitated for only a moment before, casting upon him an odd stare, before swallowing the pill down.

Snape finally sighed in what sounded like relief, before he quickly took away the glass and screwed the lid back onto the pill box, placing it within his trouser pocket.

"How do you feel?" he asked her, gazing at her intently, checking her up and down so that she suddenly felt rather self-conscious.

"I feel fine. Well, rather good actually", she looked up at him. "Sir, please explain to me what's going on. What just happened?".

Snape sighed and seemed hesitant, and then appeared to succumb to Hermione's wishes. He drew a chair from the corner of the room which Hermione had not previously seen, and sat down on it, his posture now drawn back into the regimented stance that she was so used to, so that his back was completely straight and his shoulders drawn back. He seemed about to cross his legs, before deciding the better of it, and keeping them bent at straight right angles to the floor, resting his hands palms down on his knees.

"Miss Granger, have you completed the essay that I set you on lycanthropy and the Wolfsbane Potion yet?".

Hermione frowned. She wanted answers and was instead being asked about whether she had completed her homework. But the look on Snape's face made her stop from making a remark and she merely gave a nod of her head instead.

Snape nodded also. "Good". _Of course she has_ he thought to himself, _no need to even ask really_.

"Well then, I'm sure that you are aware of the chemical compounds of werewolf saliva which causes its permanency in wizarding anatomy".

Hermione looked at him strangely. _Why were they talking about werewolf's? She wasn't one surely?_

"Yes Sir. From what I have read, it seems that although saliva is around 98% water, the enzymes that are carried in the last phase are able to mutate the white blood cells of the victim, pushing them into a monthly cycle. It also causes a small change in the structure of red blood cells, so that even when the original venom disappears from the system, the body is now producing its own within the blood itself. This is why we cannot extract the venom from the body, as it would involve replacing ever cell and every litre of blood in the body, which although might be possible with a muggle blood transfusion, is impossible for a wizard because magic is carried within the blood and made by that wizard's cells, which are as unique as fingerprints".

Snape was impressed at the girl although he didn't show it, instead choosing to simply remain silent until she had finished. There was a pause after Hermione stopped speaking, and Snape continued to sit without saying anything, merely looking at the ground in front of him. Finally Hermione broke the silence.

"What does this have to do with me Sir? I assume that the poison I ingested contains similar characteristics?".

Snape nodded his head. She really was a very smart girl.

"The compound which causes this change in the cells is know an Euridium, and whilst it is naturally occurring now within the bodies of werewolf's, that particular creature having been around for so long that no one knows where the blood line began, to actually place it, or a member of the Euridium family, within a potion is extremely difficult, and extremely dark. Not to mention, it is horrendously difficult to get ahold of," Snape explained, his black eyes fixed on Hermione's face, watching for any signs of terror or panic.

"Now, Euridium affects the cells of the body, however it has a sister, Euordium, which affects brain cells and the cerebral cortex. This is, what I now suspect, an ingredient in the poison which is contained in your system. You see it does not affect your outward appearance, only your mental faculties".

Here Snape paused, appearing unsure of how to go on.

"Euordium reacts violently when certain potion ingredients, particularly Diripio Potions*, and especially those with a magical molecetron of more than 12. The previous ingredients that I had used have used have had lower molecetrons, Powdered Moonstone have a sum of 3, Crushed Hypogriff Talon one of -"

"Seven", interrupted Hermione, biting her lip when she realised that she had interrupted the man. But to her immense surprise he did not lash out at her.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor". Snape shifted in his seat uncomfortably, having forgotten entirely the situation that he was in, turning instead into lecture mode and awarding house points, to a Gryffindor none the least!

"Last night I concocted a potion using Ptolemy, which has a molecetron count of 14. Normally this would have probably caused you a mild discomfort, most likely a headache. It wouldn't have rid you of the poison that is now in your system though. However it seems that the maker of this headache has strengthened the poisons protective body by adding another ingredient to the potion, one that is highly toxic and has the potential to cause great harm".

"Chlorine", Hermione muttered under her breath, and Snape nearly left his chair when he saw her skin turn a pale white. Thinking that she was about to collapse again he rose from the chair, but relaxed back down into it when she turned her head towards him once again, her expression back to the same interested look that is was before, albeit this time mixed with discomfort and fright, although he had to credit her, she was doing her best not to show it.

"Yes, Chlorine. I'm afraid that combined with the Euordium it reacted particularly violently with the Ptolemy, causing you to fit and nearly...", his voice trailed off and his eyes gazed somewhere far away.

Hermione did not need to be told that she had nearly died, and she settled herself back down into the large pillows on the bed. Snape's distant stare snapped and he turned to face her, standing as he did and smoothing out the creases that had formed on his trousers.

"Get some rest Miss Granger", he told her, turning to leave the room.

He stopped in the door way when he heard her calling to him.

"Sir?", she said in a small voice. She had brought the large blanket up to her chin, so that her small form was huddled underneath it, her voice slightly muffled by the material that she had buried her body into.

"If this Euordium is so hard to find, so rare... so dangerous...then how- how could a student have got hold of it?".

"I fear that they didn't Miss Granger", Snape spoke quietly.

Hermione nodded, as if she already knew that that was the answer, confirming both Hermione and Snape's worst fear:

The poison had come from outside the castle's walls.

* * *

><p>.<p>

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**_A/N_**

So this turned into an extra long chapter! I nearly stopped writing half way through scared of the length, but I just couldn't let it end without properly talking about what had happened! Needless to say i've taken a bit longer on this than usual; normally I write the chapter just in one go, but i've done this one in three separate shifts (I really do just have a horrendous attention span!).

They story is just getting going now and it's very exciting, especially so at the amount of new people reviewing and signing up for story alerts! As always, a big thanks to Kay-Dee, Managements, Dopplegranger and Severusgrissom, you guys are awesome!

**_Please Review_**

(* Potions that separate ingredients)


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione's head rested heavily against the stone wall, her body slumped against the stone steps and her skin was clammy and pink. She has been on her way to the owlry when a wave of dizziness had overcome her and she had fallen onto the cold steps leading up to the tower. She could hear the screeches overhead but they sounded strangely muffled, as if heard through a pane of glass. The world was shifting and slipping, but it slowly became less jolted and locked back into place.

Reaching a shaking hand to the stone wall that curved around the steps leading up to the owlry, Hermione pulled herself up, passing a hand over her forehead as she did so. Lifting one foot in front of the other she made her way up to the small stone door way in the side of the tower, leaning her weight heavily on the cold stone to support her.

Once inside she collapsed heavily down on to one of the wooden benches the ran around the inside wall, pulling off her hat and letting her hair gently fall down in waves around her white cheeks.

Despite it being a freezing morning, the owlry was pleasantly warm, and Hermione could smell oak and straw as she breathed heavily; and it comforted her. Closing her eyes she rested her head against the wall behind her and focused on the gentle flap of wings as the birds above her took off from their perches and the soft coo as they called out to one another.

She had convinced Snape that morning that she felt fine enough to go, and although he had protested, Hermione could tell that it was a half hearted effort to make her stay, as if he were only doing it to be courteous, and not at all like he actually *wanted* her to.

And at the time, she had felt fine. Her head had felt clear and she had felt awake and ready for the day ahead of her. But as soon as she had left Snape's chambers and headed to her own for a fresh change of clothes, she had begun to feel increasingly misplaced and not at all herself. The dizzy spells had been coming for the last half hour, each time getting increasingly more jilting so that she was forced to sit down, or slouch against whatever object she could find.

She was aware that she should have gone to Madame Pomfrey but there was something stopping her.

It was Snape.

She knew it.

All this time, if anything had happened, anything that would warrant attention from the school nurse, he had intervened and taken care of her himself. There was something that he was hiding from the elderly nurse, Hermione was sure of it. It was as if he was scared of handing over her treatment, or even letting any of the other teachers know what was going on. But it didn't worry her. Despite his background she knew, knew deep down to her bones, to the very core of her being, that she was safe with the dark man, that he would protect her.

There was a soft puff of air next to her, and she opened her eyes to find one of the school owls at her side, its large eyes eying her expectantly. She smiled ever so slightly at the creature before reaching into the pockets of her jeans to pull out a crumpled envelope which she attached with care to its leg.

It remained looking at her for a few seconds more, its head cocked to the side as if it were asking her a silent question.

Hermione stroked the soft feathers on the top of its head with a crooked forefinger.

"Go on", she whispered to it. It gave her one final look before spreading out its large wings and taking off, sailing through a high gap in the wall, until all Hermione could see was a black dot against the blue sky.

She picked her gloves up from beside her and pushed the knitted hat back down on to her head, tucking away a few stray strands of hair behind her ears and under the comfort of the hat. She rose from the bench stiffly, as if all her joints hurt, and made her wall back through where she had came.

The cooing of the owls no longer seemed soft but the noise jarred and screeched before turned into a shrill high pitched ringing. The world seemed to tip under her and Hermione found herself grabbing at the wall for support, but her clutching fingers found nothing but thin air.

Her knees hit the straw covered floor with a crack, but she felt no pain, it was as if she weren't even in her body at all, but instead in some kind of dream like trance. She forced her eyes to the open doorway, as the edges became clouded and blurred. The blue sky was becoming dark and a shadow loomed forward, blocking the door way completely so that a tall silhouette shifted and danced against the fading blue sky.

It came closer but Hermione heard no footsteps, no voice, just a heavy blanket of silence.

The light was fading all around her, and Hermione's eyes finally closed shut.

* * *

><p>They were walking, she could feel the steady pace beneath her and the strong arms that held her moving with the steady rhythm. There was a pain in her head and she pushed her face closer into the warm material that drew her close.<p>

Her eyelids felt like lead, but she managed to force them up, her head turning slightly to look at the man who carried her.

She could make out the strong angular lines of his face, the boyish brown hair that flopped over his forehead in a haphazard way. He smelled fresh and clean and she inhaled deeply into the scratchy black material of his cloak.

When she looked up again, she found his brown eyes searching her face.

"Hermione, it's okay, we're nearly there", he told her, but his voice seemed far away.

"C-Cedric? W-where?", she managed to say, although the effort behind the words was like forcing a boulder up her throat.

"Madame Pomfrey".

"N-no, no, Harry and Ron...you have to...take me...to... Harry", Hermione spoke quietly and desperately.

"You need to go to the infirmary", Cedric said sternly, but not in an unkind way. He eyed her with confusion and despite his claim, his pace has slowed ever so slightly.

"No, no...no, no, no", Hermione struggled in his grasp, her faced flushed and fevered. Cedric's arms gripped her tighter and pulled her closer to his chest, stifling her movement as she continued to try to thrash from his hold.

"Okay", he spoke gently to her, "Okay, I'll take you to your friends".

The words seemed to calm her and at first Cedric thought that it was his agreement not to take her to the infirmary, which seemed desperately strange to him, but then he realised that the girl in his arms had fallen back into the deep clutches of unconscious sleep.

* * *

><p>"Okay, so what would you rather have, a chicken's beak or an elephant's nose?", asked Ron to Harry.<p>

Harry looked deep in thought for a moment, his eyes searching the room before looking squarely at Ron. "I'm going to have to go with chicken beak, Ron" said Harry, lounging languidly back across his bed, swinging his bare feet over the end.

"Pfft", Neville could be heard replying, "imagine what you could do with an elephant's nose, you could like...swing...on trees".

"You mean like a monkey swings with its tail? Have you ever seen an elephant swinging in the trees? Can you imagine!" spoke Harry, his feet now banging softly against the footboard of the bed.

"Can you imagine Filch with an elephants nose?" drawled Ron and all three boys chuckled to themselves at the thought of the old decrepit caretaker with a large grey trunk trailing from his face and dragging along the floor.

The laughter remained hanging in the air and a calm happiness infused the dormitory. Harry's eyes shut, his imagination taking control. He pictured lying in the very bed he was in now, but instead of Ron and Neville chatting about beaks and trunks, it would be Ginny lying next to him, lying wrapped safely in his arms. He imagined how her hair would smell. He imagined how soft her skin would feel next to his own. He imagined drawing her close to him and kissing her forehead.

Harry heard Neville mutter something about going down to breakfast and heard the soft creak of the floorboards and the shut of the door as it closed behind him. He was momentarily drawn out of his blissful reverie before his imagination once again took over. He wished Ginny was here, not with that slimy Dean.

The daydream continued until he was aware that the door to the dormitory had been opened, but whoever it was had not appeared to have entered the room. Harry's eyes opened and he turned his head to see who it was that had appeared in the doorway. Standing slack jawed and wide mouthed stood a small boy of about eleven, a shock of white blonde hair falling over his eyes. Upon noticing Harry looking at him, his mouth snapped shut and he lifted a timid hand to knock shyly on the wood of the already open door.

"Um, Hi", said Harry, sitting up and swinging his feet around to the side of the bed. "Can I help you with anything?" he asked kindly, if not curiously.

The little boy twisted his feet nervously and twiddled with his untucked shirt, looking at the floor, the door, the ceiling, anywhere but Harry. "Well, um, there's a person downstairs, um outside, you know, um, the portrait. He um, well, um, he, he's from Ravenclaw I think um, he wanted you, well me to ask, um, for me to ask you, Harry...Harry Potter, if, well, you could possibly, um go and see him. Yes, that's what he said".

The boy had wrapped the loose tail of his shirt furiously around his hand by this point so that his fingers had turned white as his face had become more and more flustered. He looked almost as if wanted to pelt hell-mell back down the stairs towards his own first-year dormitory but Harry stopped him.

"What did he look like?" he asked the boy.

"Um, well, like I said, he had a Ravenclaw school tie on, and um, well, he was tall, I think, and he um, had brown hair, kind of floppy looking", he answered back nervously.

By this time Harry was rummaging around the space under his bed, his fingers searching out a pair of shoes. After pulling out two left pairs whilst the boy was speaking he finally found a matching pair and started to pull them onto his feet.

"Thank you.., sorry, what's you name?" he asked.

"Um, it's Larry, Sir, um Harry, Sir. Larry Greenbottle".

"Well thanks, Larry. See you later" said Harry. Larry turned an even fiercer shade of rest, contrasting starkly with his white hair, murmuring something under his breath about 'yes, sir' and 'thank you, sir' and clattered back down the steps towards the common room.

Harry smiled, not unkindly to himself. First years always reacted this way when they first met him, but by a couple of weeks into the term they had all but forgotten him, which suited him just fine.

Wondering why Ron had not joined into the conversation that had just taken place he shifted position so as to look at his friend, who whilst lying in exactly the same position as just minutes before, except now his eyes were closed and he had starting a slow and steady snore, despite it actually being around breakfast time.

Picking up the odd left shoe Harry took aim. It sailed, not so gracefully, through the air before hitting Ron square in the chest. Immediately he jumped awake, eyes wide, looking around the room.

"Get up you lazy bastard!" laughed Harry. "Time to go see a man about a van" he said, his voice fading as he walked out of the room.

Ron shook his head. "Muggles" he muttered under his breath "do come up with some strange, strange saying", and he followed after Harry still murmuring "strange, very strange" to himself.

* * *

><p>The portrait door swung open to reveal a very nervous looking Cedric Diggory standing before Harry and Ron.<p>

"Come quick", he said, "please. It's Hermione".

Harry and Ron looked nervously at one another before starting a quick pace after the tall Ravenclaw.

* * *

><p>Her skin was pale and clammy and felt cold to the touch. Her eyes had occasionally fluttered open but had appeared not to focus on the boys kneeling next to her at all.<p>

Cedric had left after explaining what had happened, how he had gone to the owlry to send a letter and found Hermione collapsed on the floor. He told them of how she had begged him not to take her to the school nurse and instead to bring her to them. "I don't know why, but I didn't want to argue with someone in that state" he spoke anxiously, nodding his head towards Hermione. "Obviously I couldn't just walk up to Griffindor common room with her so I came here. I thought it would be safe".

The three were standing in the middle of the room of requirement, which had transformed into a room lined with beds, and sofas, and plush cushions.

Cedric had left after explaining what had happened. He had been on his way to meet Cho and was late for their date. He left with hasty goodbyes to Harry and Ron and a promise not to tell anyone, Cho included, about what had just happened.

Since then Harry and Ron had both been taking it in turns to look over Hermione.

Ron had left the room at evening to take a walk, and presumably to grab some food from the dining room. He had been reluctant to go but Harry had forced him out to take some fresh air. He had done nothing but sit on the floor next to where Hermione lay, his eyes gazing absently at the opposite wall but his hand entwined within her limp one, his thumb stroking gentle circles across her flesh. The look of agonising worry on his face had finally drove Harry to send him from the room, for both of their sakes.

He now pressed a cool white flannel on Hermione's warm brow, that the room had conjured up also as soon as they had arrived. There was a quiet splash of water as Harry soaked the flannel back among a basin of cold water and wrung it out again to place back on his best friend's fevered brow.

Suddenly Hermione stirred. Her long eyelashes fluttering and her neck turning stiffly to look at Harry.

"Harry", she croaked, "Harry, what's happening to me?".

Her eyes were desperately sad as they searched Harry's own for answers. But she found none.

Harry could not bring himself to answer. He didn't know, and if Hermione didn't know, then this was bad. Very bad. He squeezed her hand tightly and felt her squeezing tightly back.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN_**

Wow, long hiatus!


	16. Chapter 16

There was a soft knock, barely audible, but he heard it. Taking long strides to the door, he pulled it open to find her standing at the door. She had her back turned to him, but wheeled sharply as the door opened to face him.

He said nothing but invited her in with an outstretched arm. She moved forward to walk in, expecting him to walk forward first, or to step out of the doorway. But he did not move and instead his black eyes staring down at her, motionless.

She felt her throat go dry as she stepped in through the narrow space between him and the edge of the doorframe. The bare skin of her arms brushed against his cloak and prickled with goosebumps. She could feel her heart thumping in her throat and was sure that he could hear it. Sure that it was impossibly loud, creating echoes along the silent corridor.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

But there was no noise. Just silence.

She walked further into the corridor and heard the door shut behind her.

Candles flickered along the length of the walls in the stone chambers, casting long undulating shadows across the floor. Her eyes scanned the room. She heard footsteps approaching but she did not turn round. Instead she stayed, back straight, eyes straight ahead.

The footsteps stopped immediately behind her.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

The unseen presence behind her made all the hairs on her skin stand up to attention. He was merely centimetres behind her and his presence made her stomach twirl with nerves. She could not move and instead was rooted to the spot, to afraid to make any movement which would alter the delicate balance of the room.

The candles flickered once, twice. And went out.

The room was plunged into a thick darkness, but still the overwhelming presence behind her remained. She could feel eyes bearing down upon her, although she could not see them, but she knew that their gaze was ferocious.

Suddenly the gap was closed and she was submerged in the electricity that had crackled from it previously. It was as though a wave of heat had washed through her body and turned every nerve in her body onto full power.

She felt a graze against the collar of her shirt, which slowly found its way to the warm heat of her skin. The touch was gentle, merely a feather stroke, a caress which led over her collarbone and up her neck, lingering at the hollow of her throat. She shivered involuntarily and felt the whole left side of her body tingle and tense. The touch was becoming less tender and the sheer *need*, whatever that need was, was becoming more urgent. She was pulled her sharply back against the stone body behind her and an arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer still. She let out a soft moan.

Suddenly she felt lips on the bare skin of her neck. Not soft and tender but hard, determined and passionate. They moved all over her flesh, lighting her skin on fire with a burning desire. She tried to twist to face forward but the arms held her steady in their grasp. She gasped and gripped at those arms, trying to pull them away but never really wanting them to leave.

A crackling electricity had filled the air. A summer storm brewing in the dark.

The hand on her waist shifted and moved. Upwards. It was on her stomach, palm flat, still drawing her close. But still it moved upwards.

Hermione gasped as she felt a thumb caress over the curve of her breast and she let out a unconstrained moan of pleasure.

This small noise appeared to drive the being behind her with a furious passion. Suddenly both hands were cupping her breasts, fondling them with startling intensity. The pleasure was almost too great for her and she lent backwards, letting her head rest upon his broad chest, her legs almost buckling.

Suddenly the hands stopped and she almost cried out in their absence. Then they were back again, spinning her round with force. Still she could not see. The darkness consumed and her pleasure was blinding.

She felt a hand under her buttocks, pulling her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, hand twisting into his hair as she found his mouth in the black and kissed him. Hard. Passionately. Frenzied.

Suddenly she felt cold hard stone behind her back as she was slammed violently into the wall, but still the kissing did not stop, the pain only serving to increase the pleasure.

She wanted him. More than anything else. More than everything in the entire cosmos.

Small hands moved across the hard torso until it found the cool metal of the belt buckle. Fingers moved quickly and there was the sound of metal clashing together and still, the all consuming sound of her heart.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Still the fingers found buttons and with nimble grace turned them out from their button holes.

In the darkness material fell to the floor. But the fingers did not stop. They played with elastic. Teasing and taunting. He growled a low and dangerous growl and kissed her harder.

Slipping one finger, then two into the elastic of the waistband she pulled and gasped. She could feel _it_ and she wanted _it_.

The growl from him continued and still with her legs wrapped around him, his hands moved also, pulling up the material of her skirt, and pushing down her underwear.

She felt him and he her.

The kissing had stopped but their lips remained on one another.

Time stood still, suspended, hanging precariously.

Snape pushed forward. Against her. Into her.

Hermione screamed.


	17. Chapter 17

'Hermione! Wake up!' a frantic voice could be heard yelling. 'Hermione!'

Hermione's eyes snapped open and panic began to set open as she realised that she could not move, trying to thrash around in the cocoon that surrounded her to release her limbs.

'Hermione!', she heard the voice say again, alarm all too apparent in its tone. But it was a tone she recognised none the less.

'Harry?' she whispered.

'Yeh, 'Mione, I'm here, I'm here, don't worry' she heard her best friend say back.

In sudden realisation Hermione's mind cleared and she realised that she was still in the room of requirement. The white cotton sheets had become twisted around her torso and limbs and were the reason for her momentary paralysis.

A cool hand was placed on her cheek as a face loomed into view, a free finger pushing up the glasses which threatened to slide down the nose they perched on. The hand was refreshing and she suddenly realised that she was ferociously hot, burning up even, sweat burnishing her skin.

"'Mione, God, I was so worried. You were moaning and crying out and it sounded like you were in so much pain and I just didn't know what to do. I tried to wake you up but, Oh God 'Mi, I just was scared. What...what happened?" said Harry, looking decidedly distressed. His jet black hair was standing up in all directions, a sure sign of the constant tugging that he had obviously inflicted on it, and his green eyes were nervous and fretful.

"I...", Hermione began, before a rush of half remembered memories from her dream came crashing back to her conscious. The hands upon her skin. The hard kisses. The sparks that flew in the hot air. She felt herself flush with the knowledge that what Harry had heard were not moans of pain...but moans of pleasure.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape was thinking. Thinking about the same thing as he had been two minutes before. Thinking about the same thing he had been an hour before. Thinking about the same thing he had been all day.<p>

Her.

* * *

><p>He remembered once that he had been at a muggle bar. It had been one of those newish affairs, with hard metal surfaces everywhere and loud brash signs advertising beer and condoms. He had been there on a...<em>job<em>. To lure some innocent muggle away from their friends, to bribe them away with a cigarette and the possibility of something more. Snape had always chosen the most insecure member of the group, he had a particular talent for picking them out.

He had been sitting at the bar, on some ridiculous bar stool, stirring some ridiculous concoction around and around with some ridiculously small red straw that the barmaid had placed in his drink that he had been forced to order so as to avoid looking conspicuous. The whole thing was ghastly, but he couldn't go back to his fellow death eaters without something, somebody.

His black eyes searched the relatively empty bar. There had been a few couples perched around on cheap leather sofas, some chattering nervously to one another with first date nerves, other silent, merely enjoying each other's company. A group of boys slouched in one corner of the room, pints in hand, hitting pool balls around. But Snape could see no one of any interest.

Suddenly a girl had sat next to him at the bar, a few ridiculous seats away from him. She was young, and best of all, alone. He wouldn't even have to make up some ridiculous pretence of getting her away from her friends, he would merely have to stand as if to go, grab her and then apparate out of the tacky place. No one would know. No one would even see.

He pushed the drink away, making to stand, but was stopped as he saw one of the boys that had been playing pool saunter over, making a beeline straight for Snape's prize catch of the night. Snape frowned but knew he could do nothing whilst he was being watched.

The boy was obviously drunk. The beer in his hand sloshed over the side of the glass as he walked unsteadily forwards towards the girl, splashing liquid all over the bar as he set it down and leaned in close to her. Snape could tell even standing behind her that she had recoiled away from his stale breath.

'Wassup baby,' the boy had drawled, his tongue drunkenly slurring over syllables. He hiccuped loudly. 'So d'your feet hurt?'

Well that was unexpected thought Snape, what the hell did he mean? Obviously the girl had thought the same thing as he heard her ask exactly what he was thinking: '_what_?'

The boy hiccuped again, 'coz you've been runin' around my mind' he leered, swaying on his feet.

Snape watched as the girl picked up her bag from at her feet quickly and slung it across her shoulder. She hopped down neatly from the bar stool and walked briskly towards the door. The boy, still leaning against the bar shrugged, picked up his pint, and shouted loudly to his friends, sauntering back over to the corner.

Snape grimaced. He was tempted to hex the boy and his friends with some horrible spell, just for their purely being so, well, vile and annoying. But he couldn't, he had a job to do.

Pushing back all thoughts from his mind, of regret, and sympathy, and care, he got up and followed the girl outside.

* * *

><p>Snape had tried to remember as little of those days as possible. Of course, the death eaters still practiced such games, but Snape was now far too high in their pecking order to warrant going out and searching for muggle girls for the new recruits to purge and plunder.<p>

But he had always remember that cheesy line from the boy, even if he could not remember his face, or the bars which had all rolled into one. It was in his mind now as he thought about the girl. _The_ girl. And she certainly had been in his mind all day.

He had not wanted to let her go that morning, but she had insisted on going and leaving. Leaving him. He of course had protested, but he could hardly have insisted that she had stayed. That might have seemed...weird. But then the fact that he had not taken her to the hospital wing might have also seemed 'weird' to her. _But_, when had Severus Snape ever worried what a student had thought of him, what anyone had ever thought of him for that matter?

The fire crackled and Snape tried to think about anything else, but no matter how hard he tried he could not stop thinking about her. He actually wanted to see her again. But every time he had come close to admitting this to himself he had felt sick. She was his _student_. He was her _teacher_. No, no, of course he did not have _feelings_ for her, those kind of feelings anyway.

No, it was merely concern for a student's welfare. Not that he had ever cared before, but maybe this was different. Yes, he could admit that something was different, something had changed...he cared. But for her _welfare_, for her _health_, nothing, absolutely _nothing_ more.

* * *

><p>"' Mi are you sure you won't come with us?" asked Harry.<p>

Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing in the entrance hall of Hogwarts. A large tree stood at its centre which had been decorated with a myriad of brightly coloured tinsel and small floating lights so that it sparkled and shined. It really was very beautiful.

Both Harry and Ron stood looking at Hermione with their trunks on the floor at the feet, Harry's shiny and polished, Ron's decidedly battered looking, with the letters C.W. stenciled onto it, clearly a hand me down from the first Weasley brother.

"Hermione you can't seriously want to spend the _whole_ of Christmas in the library. Seriously? Why not just come back to mine for a few days at least? Mum's famous roast and all that, go on?' Ron almost pleaded, trying to not let the longing and devastation show in his voice that Hermione planned to stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas break.

Hermione smiled endearingly but still shook her head. 'Oh Ron, you know I'd love to but, well, what with being this ill, I really need to catch up on school work. I'd be in a foul mood knowing that I had so much to do, and you know it", she laughed, poking him in the side.

Ron managed a small smile. "I guess", he joked back.

"I love you both, okay, but if you don't leave now you'll miss the train", Hermione smiled at both of them, attempting to push them out of the front door of the castle. 'Love you too', said Harry, giving her a quick one armed hug, the other arm reaching down to take his trunk. Releasing her he made to carry it down the front steps.

Ron now stood before Hermione looking sheepish, rubbing his right hand on his left arm. 'You sure now?' he asked, his eyes pleading with her to come with them to the Burrow.

'Yes Ronald', spoke Hermione endearingly.

Suddenly Ron had closed the gap in a few quick strides and had thrown both arms around her. Hermione hugged him back lovingly. 'Have a good Christmas Ron', she spoke into the scratchy material of his jacket. 'You too 'Mi', Ron almost whispered back.

Finally he pulled away, but not completely. Before Hermione even knew what had happened he had pecked her on the lips, turning flame red after doing so, and almost ran from the Great Hall.

Hermione raised a hand to her lip. Shocked and surprised, but also happy. Running to the open door she called after them. 'Don't open your presents early!'. Both boys turned and waved before carrying onwards.

Hermione too turned back around and sighed. The hall was deserted and the only movement came from the twinkle of lights that gave the Christmas tree such an ethereal life.

She stayed looking at the tree for a while, gazing into its vast green depths. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be a centaur, to live amongst the trees of the forest. But all she could think of was how she would miss a cozy armchair, a crackling fire and a book. Three things which would come in very handy right now.

She smiled to herself and began to walk towards the Gryffindor common room.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN**_

Okay, so I've definitely gone a bit off track from the original plan here, but I'm feeling a bit more Hermione/Snape time together wouldn't you all agree!

Coming back to this chapter i'm really not happy with it so may be changed soon!


	18. Chapter 18

Hermione slid into a seat at the near empty Griffindor table, swinging her bag laden with books onto the table with a dull thud.

Most of the students had gone home for the holidays with only a few remaining behind. Hermione noticed a few Ravenclaw girls from her history of magic class sitting at the opposite table, laughing over a picture in 'Witch Weekly'. She sighed. Had she been the type she might have gone over and said hi, tried to join in the conversation, but as it happened, she was not that type.

Instead, she unbuckled the straps on her bag and pulled out a heavy, leather-bound tome, setting it down next to her and pushing the crackling yellow pages until she found her place. She barely even noticed the food that she was eating and kept her eyes focused on the small words on the page, a free finger tracing over the lines as she read.

She had barely noticed the light shifting behind the tall windows, until when she finally looked up she found that the candles that hung silently in the air were lit, and the majority of students had left the hall. Indeed, she had not even noticed her plate of foot, which had no doubt gone cold, make its way back to the kitchen.

Hermione yawned and reached her arms forward, trying to straighten out her cramped muscles. She was mid-stretch when she felt, rather than saw, somebody's eyes on her. Turning towards the teachers table she found herself looking straight into the eyes of her potions professor. Somehow today he looked even more foreboding that his usually self, more darker, more brooding. The gaze focused on her seemed intense and almost angry.

Even sitting half-way across the hall Hermione flinched back from his glare. A pink flush appeared on her face, and she quickly averted her eyes for his own black obsidian glower.

They had not spoken since the morning she had hurriedly left his chambers, wishing that he would ask her to stay but also afraid that he would reject her completely if she had. So she had left, quickly. Of course, she had seen him in class but she was sorely mistaken if she thought a night in his care would have rendered him slightly more permissive of her. Instead, he had proceeded to ignore her more than usual, only snarling in her general direction that points would be taken from her house for her 'constant hand-waving that was enough to give anyone a seizure'.

Hermione began to stuff the heavy book back into her bag again. She could not bear for Snape to see the look on her face: embarrassment. Shame. She felt her cheeks burn even brighter. Hermione could not believe that she had ever entertained feelings about him _liking_ her, dreamed about him even. She almost groaned when she thought back to her recent...fantasies. _How stupid can I have been_ she chastised herself, trying in vain to push the book into her bag, its pages catching against something rolling around the bottom of it.

Frustration overcoming her she practically hit the book so that it slid into her bag, feeling awfully bad when she heard pages creasing.

"That's no way to treat a school book is it, Mis Granger?" came a low voice from behind her.

Hermione trembled, she had not even heard him approaching. Twisting in her seat to face him, but keeping her eyes shamefully averted to the floor, she mumbled 'no Sir, sorry', again, to the floor, rather than to him.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him begin to turn away from the table, making to turn out of the door when the voice caught her again.

"Come with me Miss Granger".

Hermione's head shot up and this time she looked at her Professor properly, her eyes gazing his face, trying to ascertain the motive. But she found none, and the man's face in front of her remained as impassive as ever.

"Unless that is, you wish to sit here and destroy more library books?", he said, looking down at her deridingly.

Hermione shook her head, and stood up, following the tall and ominous man out of the grand hall.

* * *

><p>"Bloody woman', Snape muttered under his breath, cursing the school nurse for making him brew potions that wouldn't be needed if all the little dunderheads that occupied the school were less, well, dunderheaded.<p>

He wiped a hand over his forehead, straightening out and feeling the muscles in his back pop. Finally, the last of the dreamless sleep and skelegrow potions had been stoppered and with a flick of his wand he cleared away the left over ingredients and cleaned their residue from his cauldron.

A low growl emanated around the room. His stomach. Snape realised that he hadn't even had time to eat today, what with brewing these potions for Poppy, and marking all the little twits first year essays. He would have to find a new bottle of red ink from the storeroom, he thought to himself as he buttoned up his dress coat and pulled on his robe. He had used it all up on their impossibly brainless answers.

Closing his classroom door he locked it with a silent spell and carried on his steady pace through the dungeons. Snape's mood alleviated when he stepped into the entrance hall and saw the grand fir tree that twinkled with thousands of lights. But not because it was Christmas. No, Snape did not care for _that_ particular holiday anymore, but because it meant the holiday was here. No more Longbottom. No more Weasley. No more Potter. And most importantly, .Granger.

It was hard enough for him as it was, her having to sit in his classroom and him having to teach her. Well, that wasn't quite true, she seemed to know everything that he taught in his classes anyway, but still, just her being there infuriated him. Why could he not get away from the girl?

She was in his head when he walked to classes and in his head when he taught them. He wanted her _out_ of his head. He wanted to think freely again.

It had worked, slightly, by simply ignoring her in class. In fact, he had not even looked at her properly since the day that she had left his chambers, hurriedly grabbing her belongings. She obviously hated him, that much was clear. Why did she have to make him hate himself anymore so than he already did? Was it not enough that he knew full well that she not only didn't like him, but obviously detested him so much that she could not even bear to be in the same room as him?'

But, surprisingly, it had worked. He had begun to see her as merely just a student again. Annoying, hand-waving, irritating Hermione Granger. And he relished in the thought. He had cured her. No more night time visits, no more falling asleep on _his_ sofa, in _his_ chambers. Now he could finally go back to live his normal, lonesome life.

Snape pushed open the door that led to the slightly raised table on which the teacher's table sat. He could make out two of his colleagues sitting at one end of the table, Flitwick and Binns. He most decidedly did _not_ want to join in that conversation, so he took a place at the opposite end and began to spoon food onto his plate.

The dusk had turned into evening and Snape watched as the candles that floated overhead flicked and sparked into life. "God damn that annoying witch", he thought again to himself, as he realised that Poppy had nearly made him miss dinner.

Snape's eyes glanced over the hall. It was practically empty. There was a small first year girl sitting on the Hufflepuff table who squeaked when she saw him look at her. Snape almost snorted. He could make out a few boys and girls from his own house also, sniggering away at something under the table, god-knows what. Snape did not care.

Suddenly though Snape felt as though his heart had come out of his chest and he was overcome with both happiness and annoyance at both the same time. There, on the third table over, sat Hermione Granger. Snape almost laughed to himself when he saw that she was reading one of the advanced texts from the library. Of course. But why was she _always_ here, just when he did not want her to be. Why couldn't she bloody well go home with her precious Potter and leave him alone. He felt a twisting sensation in his gut and he realised that he was angry with her. But as he continued to watch her his keen eyes saw more. The girl was thin, painfully thin in fact. He could see from the way her school robes draped off her, as if they no longer fit. Her skin was pale and white and her eyes looked tired. In fact, the more he looked at her, the more he knew that something was just not right.

She stretched her arms in front of her, her robes falling back across her bare forearms. She looked skeletal.

Without notice, the girls head turned in his direction. They were looking right at each other. Snape saw her blush, colour rising to her cheeks. It made her look better, he thought to himself. But why was she so pale? So thin? So tired looking?

Her eyes snapped away from his. Snape wondered what she was thinking. Did she hate him? Did her skin crawl when she looked at him? Probably, he thought. But something was not right, and he would see to it that whatever it was that was wrong, was fixed.

He silently walked over to the Griffindor table to where Hermione was now trying in vain to force the book into her bag.

"That's no way to treat a school book is it, Mis Granger?" he asked her, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. He saw the girl stiffen slightly and twist in her seat towards him, eyes firmly on the ground at his feet. She couldn't even stand to look at him Snape thought sadly to himself. But that didn't matter. He would still help her.

"Come with me Miss Granger" he commanded her, seeing a look of surprise pass over her tired features. She appeared to study his face, looking at him questioningly.

Snape was growing impatient.

"Unless that is, you wish to sit here and destroy more library books?" he rebuked, looking down at her through cold eyes.

He watched her nod, and satisfied that she was following him, made his way out of the hall and down to his dungeon classroom.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN**_

Sorry guys, not much action in this chapter but there will be in the next. Promise :) I've got exams coming up soon so want to write, and it makes me very happy to get reviews from you guys! Let me know what you think and what _you _would like to happen!


	19. Chapter 19

The classroom was dark as the pair walked in and as the door closed behind Hermione she could make out nothing, not even the vague shapes of the desks and table which she knew to sit all around her.

_He was behind her. Spinning her round. Catching her lips with his own_.

Hermione gasped as the memories from her dream came flooding back to her and she felt her breathing hitch in her throat. She was almost half waiting for the moment when she would feel the smooth touch tracing over her collarbone, but was left disappointed when she heard Snape mutter an incantation under his breath and the candles around the side of the classroom came to life, flickering into being with small puffs of air.

Snape made as if to walk round and sit behind his desk but stopped just short, leaning on one of the student desks instead. He held out his arm and gestured Hermione to take a seat at one of the empty desks in the room. She in turn began to walk over to her normal seat in class before stopping short and turning to face Snape.

"What is this about Professor?" she asked him, unable to hide the curiosity, and she had to admit, fright, from her voice.

"Miss Granger, did I, or did I not tell you before our last...encounter, that if you were to feel unwell that I should wish for you to come and seek me?", Snape asked, his tone bitter.

"Well yes Sir, but.."

Snape cut Hermione off mid sentence. "And, Miss Granger, how have you been feeling?" he glared at her.

Hermione shrank under his gaze and paused momentarily. "I, I'm fine Sir", she stuttered, suddenly painfully conscious under his scrutiny.

Snape rounded on her, pushing himself away from the desk and taking long steps across the classroom to reach her in only a few seconds. Bending down he put his face only inches away from the frightened girl before him. "Do you take me for an imbecile?" he hissed at her, his black eyes flickering in the semi-dark of the room.

"N, No Sir", Hermione answered mutely, trying to shy away from him, pressing her buttocks firmly against the wood of the table, leaning back from him as far as she could.

"Do you think you can make a fool out of me by lying to my face" he asked, his tone harsh and biting. Hermione shook her head vigorously, the words stuck in her throat. She felt paralyzed with fear at the man in front of her, his ebony eyes glittering with a fierce anger that she had never seen before. For the first time, she was afraid of the man, afraid of what he might do. Here they were, along together in his classroom deep under the ground, where no student or teacher could hear them. And all this while she had forgotten about his past, forgotten about his darkness, but now, looking in his eyes, the darkness appeared to consume him.

And then just as suddenly as the fear had devoured, it abated as Snape stepped away from her and walking back to where he previous stood. Turning, he eyed her questioningly.

"Tell me the truth Miss Granger" he asked, more softly now, as if suddenly worn out and tired.

The suddenly gentle tone of his voice caught Hermione unaware. It felt as if, for the first time this this had all started, somebody actually cared, but more than that, someone would understand. Of course Ron and Harry had tried to, but she knew that they were every bit as scared and frightened as she was, she could see it in their eyes. But this man that stood in front of her had asked how she felt. How she truly felt. It was too much for Hermione, and she felt the facade crack.

Tears spilled down her face and she collapsed into the nearest seat, trying to hide her face away in her hands so that Snape would not see her cry. He must think I'm pathetic, she thought to herself as she furiously tried to stop the flow of tears leaking from her eyes.

If she had removed her hands though, she might have even laughed at the sight of Snape's face, which looked completely and utterly shocked at the sudden outburst of emotion from the girl who he was so accustomed to seeing calm and composed.

Finally regaining himself he walked towards her, picking up a chair from the closest desk and turning it around so that it faced her.

"Miss Granger", he spoke quietly. Still Hermione pressed her hands over her face, her hair falling around her, further shielding her. Snape could still hear her loud sobs though and see her shoulders rack with their force.

"Miss Granger", he said again, but still Hermione did not take move her hands.

Slowly and unsurely, Snape reached out his hands to her, wrapping his fingers around her small wrists and attempting to move her hands away from her face. She resisted him though, and although he knew that he could easily restrain her arms, he let her.

"Hermione...please" he almost begged with her, the coldness from only minutes earlier gone from his voice. He once again tried to prize her fingers away from her face, and this time she let him, revealing her white and tear stained face.

Reluctantly, Snape let go of her and sat back in the chair, looking at her and waiting for an answer. Hermione wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and trained her eyes to the desk in front of her.

"I, I well" she stuttered, the words hiccuping out of her after her crying. Snape waited patiently.

"Professor, when I left you that morning, I honestly did feel fine. I really did. But as the day progressed, I started to feel, well, as though I was shutting down. It was like every step was an effort, every breath hurt. I, I collapsed...in the owlry"

Snape growled when he heard this, but restrained himself and waited for her to continue.

"I didn't want to go to Madame Pompfrey. All the questions she would have asked. If I had gone I'd probably still be in the hospital wing now", she gave a small smile to the man in front of her, who nodded, appearing to actually agree with her.

"Harry and Ron, we went to the room of requirement. I thought I was going to die Sir", Hermione raised her eyes sheepishly to her professor, "everything hurt, every breath, every word. Even sleeping didn't kill the pain".

"Why didn't you come to me?" Snape almost whispered. Was she that disgusted by him that even in her terrible suffering she did not see fit to come to him?

"You'd been so kind to me. You'd looked after me and helped me. I didn't want to waste any more of your time and it wouldn't have been fair on you if I had come to you...again. And anyway, as the weekend passed, I began to feel a little better. I was able to make it to my classes and well, I guess I'm fine now", she spoke again, mumbling the last part.

"The truth Miss Granger", spoke Snape in a low voice.

Hermione's eyes flicked up to finally look at her teacher in the face. "I feel...I feel..." she began, before her barrier finally seemed to collapse altogether. "I feel awful Sir. I have no appetite, I feel nauseous and sick, everything hurts. And I'm tired, I feel so tired. But worst of all", here she paused, "worst of all, I'm so scared". Her eyes fell to the desk again, her fingers nervously tracing out the scratched marks in the wood.

Snape leaned forward towards her.

"Look at me", he commanded. "Look at me".

Taking his hand he placed it under the girls chin and brought it up so that he could look her in the eyes, which conveyed so much pain and fright.

He spoke softly, but forcefully. "I made a promise that I would help you, that I would look after you. Don't ever doubt that again. Don't ever feel as though you can't come to me. Because you can. Please, please understand that. We can fix this...together".

His hand moved around to brush the stray hair that had fallen over her tear stained cheek behind her ear.

"We _will_ fix this" he spoke determinedly.

"Together", whispered Hermione.

* * *

><p>Please review...help me get to 100 :)<p> 


	20. Chapter 20

Snape sunk into the large brown armchair which had been pulled up in front of the crackling fire. Brushing a hand over his eyes and leaning back, he took a substantial gulp of firewhisky from the crystal decanter which stood on the table next to him.

He had sent Hermione to bed with a vial of dreamless sleep, feeling slightly better knowing that she would get some well needed rest. Her emasculated appearance still worried him though and he vowed to get her to eat more. He would attend every dinner in the grand hall if need be, simply to make sure that she was eating whatever food was put in front of her. His concern was real and genuine.

Snape had not felt for anyone in a long while. In fact, Snape had not felt for a long while full stop. He had blocked the pain out, and in the process, pleasure. It was his coping mechanism, his survival mechanism. But now his emotions were crashing down on him. He sighed deeply and took another gulp of the amber liquid.

He had just set down his glass and closed his eyes when he felt it. It started out as an itch that could not be reached, before turn hot and fiery, like a rash that cannot be cooled. Pulling up his sleeve he saw the dark mark shifting and burning on his skin. The tattoo's grotesque skull morphed as he watched, the jaw hanging open, slack mouthed in a silent scream. The Dark Lord was calling him.

* * *

><p>The wind was bitterly cold and it stung every bit of exposed white flesh on the hillside. But the 'man' standing in front of them did not seem the least bit aware. His dirty feet remained bare, half buried in slack white snow and his chest was exposed to the elements as his loosely fitting robe danced around him in the wind, flying madly about him as he raised his arms high and called to the group of blackly-clad people that stood around him.<p>

"My followers!" he shouted to them all, above the gust of the wind, his voice sweeping around them. "Our assaults have finally begun! Soon we will have control over this pathetic society and we will bend them to our wishes, each and every one of them!", the menacing voice sounded, full of contempt and glee.

The people in the circle stamped their feet and some let out laughs of agreement, barely heard above the sound of the wind which roared around them, making strange howling noises as it dipped over the gullies of the valley.

"Would you care to demonstrate to us Bellatrix, how you might properly subjugate a _mudblood_ to our will. The will of the pure and the great" he spat, turning his venomous gaze to the figure immediately to his right. The figure bowed low to the ground, black frizzy hair blown around the face of what frankly was, a mad woman. "Yes, my Lord, with pleasure, my Lord", she answered with sickening readiness and excitement.

"Now then", the man turned back to the people in front of him, "who would like to volunteer?". He eyed them all in turn, watching them squirm as his gaze turned to rest of each and every one of them. Even hidden behind their frightening masks he could feel the fear that emanated from them. Pointing a long and crooked finger he beckoned one of the death eaters forward to him, who reluctantly stepped forward and bowed low to the ground.

Voldemort stepped backward and beckoned the woman Bellatrix Lestrange forward, who proceeded with a malicious smirk on her face, drawing up at one side of her face to give her the impression of a crazed lunatic, which indeed, she was.

With a flick of her wrist the man in front of her who stood nearly a foot taller than she was crumpled to the ground at her feet, snow covering the black robes which he wore. The wand trained on him now moved in a quick arch and he screamed in agony, his back arching in pain and his arms and legs straightening as though being pulled by invisible ropes.

Bellatrix lent down next to him, her wild hair falling all around them both. "It's not near as much fun if I can't see your face Rookwood", she hissed at him, before reaching out her hand to rip the mask away from his face which was contorted into a gross mask of pain. "That's better isn't it", Bellatrix cooed, straightening back up again. With another twitch of her wand the man named Augustus Rookwood began to spasm and convulse at her feet, his eyes rolling back into the back of his head so that all that could be seen was the milky whites.

Voldemort laughed but held out a hand to stop her. Bellatrix immediately lowered her wand and backed away, bowing low to the ground as she did so. "Now now Bella, we all know you like to have a little fun with the cruciatis but we mustn't scramble our poor Rookwood's pain now, he still has important business to do for us", he smirked, clearly enjoying nonetheless the sight of the man still spasming involuntarily at his feet, a long string of spittle leading down his flushed cheeks.

Voldemort pressed his hands together and looked delightedly at his followers. "I suspect I shall see you all again very shortly. This has been very fun", he spoke to them. "Severus, apparate with me, the rest of you disperse".

One by one the death eaters apparated off the cold hill top in black tendrils of smoke, leaving what looked like charcoal marks against the pure white powder of the snow. One of them had roughly grabbed the figure that lay apparently unconscious on the floor, so that now only two death eaters remained on the hill site, Bellatrix and Snape, who both apparated after Voldemort until the hill bared no more signs of its previous occupants.

* * *

><p>Snape landed heavily on his feet in a large cavernous hall. A fire had been lit in the huge fireplace and he sighed when he though back to the armchair in front of his very own. He wished he was there, instead of brushing off the cold wet snow from his robes and pulling his death eater mask from his face.<p>

A door to his left silently opened and Snape paced through it to find that he was sitting in an even larger hall whose entire length was filled by a long mahogany table, devoid of any decoration. Snape, of course, recognised the entrance hall, and this, in his opinion, over the top dining room. Malfoy Mansion. Where else?

Voldemort had already taken a seat at the top of the table and motioned for the two death eaters to come forward. Bellatrix nearly skipped over in excitement, her face a twisted mask of evil. Snape merely walked over, his face giving nothing away, remaining impassive and inscrutable.

"My Lord", he bowed stiffly, before sitting in the chair next to Voldemort.

"What do you have for us?", Voldemort questioned, looking intently at Snape, but seemed more to be talking to himself, rather than to Snape himself.

Snape was ready for what was to come next.

Voldemort penetrated Snape's mind as Snape brought down the barriers to let the man in, although not _all_ of them. Although Voldemort did not know it, Snape was the one in control, showing only what he wanted the man to see.

He brought to the surface a few pointless memories of teaching and marking essays, and also, although he did not wish to, the memory of Hermione Granger. But again, he had carefully placed up walls around those memories of tenderness towards the girl, showing Voldemort only his deriving comments of her. He showed him giving her the potion to cure her and also his memory of first seeing her again today in the dining hall, looking drawn and tired. Snape was clever enough to know that Voldemort was surely behind whatever was going on, and to know that if he tried to hide her from him, Voldemort would learn that he was protecting her.

Finally he felt the man withdraw from his mind, and immediately the blocks slammed back into place again.

"Excellent, excellent!" Voldemort laughed to himself, clapping his hands together and looking at his two servants with virulent excitement. "This plan is coming together rather nicely, yes, yes rather nicely indeed", he spoke.

"My Lord?" questioned Snape, his face still portraying nothing but a slight curiosity.

"That mudblood," Voldemort spat, "that thing. I will ruin it and destroy it, just the same as I will do to anyone who tries to protect the boy from me, and by the looks of things, my plan is working out just perfectly".

"I see", said Snape, wondering whether to ask more, but fearing the man's wrath and suspicion. Despite his concerns though, Snape deciding to push further.

"I take it that this has something to do with her...health?", asked Snape, trying to phrase the question in a way so as not to draw attention to the fact that he actually, dare he even admit it to himself, cared. He knew that Voldemort had already seen that she had come to him and that he had noticed the way that she looked, and held herself.

"Yes, yes Severus!" exclaimed Voldemort, "well done for figuring it out, for figuring out everything in fact!".

Snape gave a questioning look.

"That crackpot old fool that sits with his squawking bird may trust you, but that trust needs to be maintained. I had a potion smuggled into the castle, to be taken by the little mudblood girl. But you couldn't know Severus, no you could not. You had to cure her see, so that if the fool happened to look into your memories he could see that you had tried. But here's the genius of it all..."

Snape felt his heart sink.

"...by curing the side-effects of the potion, the actual intended effect itself will have now begun to work its way through her every part of her body, every muscle, every tissue, every bone".

Snape's hear sank even lower and he felt his stomach churn. He knew the group of potions to which Voldemort was referring to: they were powerful, they were old and they were extremely deadly. They worked primarily between creating an undesirable side-effect on the body, but something that could be cured relatively easily. But that cure given was what really kickstarted the potion into bonding with the blood, eventually seeping into the nervous system and skeleton of the body. It was no wonder that the classified group of potions was known as _Agonia Prolongenia Suite_: prolonged agony. Which led to only one thing; Snape gulped. Death.

"I see", Snape managed, feeling a fiery anger sweep through him but somehow keeping his expression blank. "If I may ask, my Lord, how were you able to get such a powerful substance into the castle?"

The Dark Lord smiled, his yellow teeth showing. "Why, our youngest new star of course"

Of course, it was as Snape has suspected in the first place: Draco.

Suddenly Voldemort's mood changed and his expression turned dangerous and threatening. "Leave now", he commanded the silent Bellatrix and Snape.

Once back into the entrance hall, the woman rounded on Snape. Despite her head not even reaching his shoulders she glared at him through thick black eyelashes, her stance tight and ready to pounce. "Snivvy, Snivvulus Snape" she mocked "the Dark Lord might trust you, but _I_ don't" she hissed at him, jabbing a finger into his chest.

Snape glared down at her and snatched her hand in his own. Twisting it around so that Bellatrix let out a sharp gasp of pain as her wrist bent in a strange direction, Snape continued to stare down at her.

"And _I_ do not care _anything_ for your opinions Bella", he snarled back, pushing her sharply away and apparating in a wisp of black smoke.

* * *

><p>The sunlight that filtered through the windows cast a bright ray over Hermione's sleeping form, gently awakening her to the new day. She sat up, blinking, rubbing a hand over her eyes and brushing away her knotted hair away from her face. The heavy velvet curtains which were normally pulled around her bed were pushed away on account of the room being empty of its usual inhabitants, all home for the holidays.<p>

Hermione smiled to herself, taking pleasure in such a small thing as being alone in a room. I deserve to feel happy about this, she thought to herself, rolling over to pick up a book from the nightstand next to her bed. Relaxing back into the pillows she began to read, letting herself be caught up in a fantasy world, taking her away to moons far and lakes deep.

With a jolt Hermione realised that she had fallen back to sleep. Reaching over to take her watch from beside her she swore when she realised that breakfast was about to finish. Whipping the covers back she launched herself out of bed, the book that she had been reading falling to the floor. She pulled on a pair of jeans, swearing again as she became tangled in her jumped, before finally managing to yank it down over her head.

She just had time to run a brush through her hair before bounding down the stairs and pulling open the portrait, feeling bad for nearly slamming it behind her.

"Dear", she hear the high-pitched voice from the fat-lady from behind her, "you appear to be forgetting some footwear", she said matter of factly.

"Dragon balls", Hermione muttered vehemently under her breath.

Making it to the dining hall with merely minutes to spare Hermione, complete with shoes, slid into a seat at the Griffindor table, rattling cereal into a bowl. Taking a mouthful she turned her head to the teachers table, her gut squirming but readily steadying when she saw that there sat no sullen man. She did allow herself a grin though as Hagrid waved his plate sized hand at her, looking like he was trying to eat at a dolls table, as held a spoon between his forefingers as if it were a pin.

Hagrid's eyes raised to the ceiling and Hermione's followed him as the sound of wind whistled in the dining hall, owls swooped down around the rafters, loan feathers floating down to rest on the floor of the dining room. There were only a few that day, it being the holidays after all, and Hermione was surprised to find a letter dropped into her lap by a large superfluous looking black owl.

Turning the envelope over in her hands she could feel from the heavy weight of the parchment that it was expensive. The deep cream was unmarked by the blemish of ink, and she slid a finger into the fold, feeling almost guilty at tearing it open. A single folded sheet of paper lay inside, and her heart jumped when she recognised the familiar script which ran elegantly across the page.

_Miss Granger,_

_Please see me immediately after breakfast._

_Professor S. Snape_

Pushing away the still full bowl of cereal Hermione gave a quick wave goodbye to Hagrid and made her way out of the hall, almost skipping down the dungeon staircase. By the time she arrived outside of the heavy classroom door she was out of breath and her skin was flushed and hot. Passing a hand over her messy hair she wished that she had taken more care over her appearance getting ready that morning. She tried to smooth out the creases in her clothes and cringed slightly when she realised that her favourite jeans had become much too large for her. She looked, and felt, just like a small child. Taking a deep breath she knocked on the heavy wooden door, hoping that her quick rap had not sounded too eager. "Come in" the deep and silky voice commanded. She felt a shiver run down her spine and pushed open the door.

Snape was sitting behind his desk, a quill gripped tightly in his hand as he finished off marking a tall stack of essays. He did not look up and so Hermione slid quietly into a desk, waiting for him to finish. Without his impassive stare on her she felt free to look at the man before her, writing furiously, no doubt criticising and belittling a poor student.

His hair was glossy and she noticed that it looked longer than usual, reaching to his broad shoulders. She nearly giggled when she thought of someone giving Snape a haircut, making small talk with him about the weather. Stifling it she surveyed him with free reign, no longer trying to catch sidelong glances at the man who had appeared more than once in her dreams.

Her eyes ran along his strong jawline and high cheekbones, marveling at his smooth waxen skin. She almost leaned forward in her chair when she saw him frown at something in the essay before him, small creases appearing around his eyes. Laughter lines. Hermione could imagine no stranger thing than seeing him laugh, but she could still tried to envision it in her mind; would it be a deep baritone chuckle, or low chortle? But no matter how hard she tried, every sound she tried out sounded wrong; off.

Without removing his eyes from paper before him, nor stopping his writing on the page, he spoke loudly, "have you quite finished staring at me Miss Granger?". Hermione flushed a dark red, her eyes flicking to look at the floor ahead of her, anywhere but at him.

Snape sighed deeply to himself and pushed away the work in front of him, standing up and walking around, pacing the floor as he did so often in his classes. Hermione half expected him to ask her a question.

She could feel Snape looking at her but she made no move to turn her gaze to him. Instead she faced straight forward, wishing for the floor to swallow her up. Her mouth was startling dry and she swallowed stiffly, her hands gripping tightly to the front of the desk.

"Miss Granger," he began, his voice monotone and platonic, "I require your...help.

Hermione almost fell out of her chair. Had _he_ really just asked help from _her_? The usually sardonic professor stood with a completely straight face as Hermione turned her eyes to look at him, searching his face for its characteristic sneer, its cynical look. But she found none, just a blank expression waiting for an answer to his implied question. Snape held her gaze before turning away, his black cloak snaking over the floor behind him.

The silence in the room was palpable as Hermione realised that she had not said that word that had been bursting to come our of her, to spill forth from her lips, from the moment he had finished his sentence. "Yes", she blurted out, almost too loudly in the quiet classroom. "Yes, I'll help you Sir", she lowered her voice slightly, burning with curiosity at what he could possibly want her to help with.

Snape turned and gave her a strange look, raising his black eyebrows. "You don't even know what it is yet". He eyed the girl before him, her expression determined, a small frown appearing on her brow as she rested her chin in cupped hands, looking at him. Snape could only say that he was surprised. A moment ago he had felt her gaze on him, watching him intently. He had been sure that if he would have looked up he would have seen disgust on her face. Who in their right mind would want to be in his classroom, with him?

But now, watching her ardently lean forward in her chair, her face conveying her want to help him, a mix of curiosity and questioning, he questioned himself. Suddenly he felt almost conscious in front of his student and the words appeared to stick his his throat.

* * *

><p><em>He sat alone at the far end of the table, keeping his distance from his fellow students. He kept his face buried into the book that he held in his hand, its hard cover forming a protective barrier between him and the rest of the word. '<em>Advanced Potion Making'_ glistening in gold leaf letters along the spine. Severus wished he could colour the letters in with black ink, he was sure that the small amount of colour was drawing attention to him. But this was a library book, Severus could afford none of his own._

_To anyone casting a casual glimpse at the lone boy at the end of the table, they might have thought him deep in study, but if they were to watch just moments longer, they would see his dark eyes flick up regularly, his gaze always leading to the same thing. The same person._

_Her back was to him, but he could still see the lovely cascade of hair that fell down her back in one sweeping motion. It glinted as the sun fell through the windows and he watched in wonder as her hair turned from caramel, to fiery red, to cherry hues. He could see her shoulders rise and fall and knew she was laughing. He was too far away to hear it but he could imagine it as if she were sitting next to him. A joyfully giggle, full of happiness, full of everything Severus wanted in life. If only he could._

_But his stomach rolled as he watched her laugh at _their_ jokes. He felt as though if he thought about it, how unfair everything was, that he would cry. He had sworn to himself though that he would never shed another tear again, for himself, for anybody. He buried his face still deeper into the book, breathing in the musty smell and brushing his finger along the smooth foredge._

_When he looked up again he saw that the girl sat at the table alone. He watched with sinking heart as she swung her legs over the table, her satchel banging on her legs as she walked. In a sudden fit of gallantry Severus rose from his seat, snatching at his school bag and the book that he'd been reading. He followed her out, and just as she was about to turn the corner to the east-wing he called to her._

_"Lilly"._

_She turned around to face her caller, her face falling into a soft smile as she walked towards him. He watched her come towards him, noticing when her eyes briefly flicked around the entrance hall. He almost wanted to reassure her, they were alone, no body could see her speaking to the strange Slytherin boy._

_"Hey stranger", she grinned at him, looking him up and down, "you've grown...a lot" she laughed. You would've noticed if you'd seen me more, Severus wanted to say to her, but he refrained. She was here now, with him, and that was all that mattered._

_"How have you been?" he asked her politely, if not too formally, fingering the worn strap of his bag vigorously, a sure sign of his nerves._

_"Oh you know", she smiled, "work, quidditch...stuff..." she trailed off, a pink blush appearing on her cheeks. Snape nodded, seemingly lost for words, the situation between them becoming awkward._

_Severus bit the inside of his cheek and tried to force up the words he had been meaning to say. "So, Lil" he began, "um, I was wondering if, well I was wondering whether..." he mumbled. Lilly looked at him curiously. "I was wondering if you'd come to the ball with me", he finally blurted out in a long stream of words. His face seemed even paler than normal and he watched her with an agonised expression._

_He watched her take a small step backwards. "Sev, I, well, you know I would" she spoke, "but I'm going with James"._

_Severus felt a great crushing weight on his heart. It felt like being buried alive. He wanted to scream, he wanted to sob, he wanted to run as far away as he could. But he didn't, he remained rooted to the spot, his expression devastated._

_"I, I'm kind of _with_ him now you see, you know, like girlfriend and boyfriend", Lilly said, her tone anxious, looking around the hall again to see whether anyone was watching in on their conversation._

_Severus merely nodded, his lank hair bouncing as he did so. He couldn't look at her anymore. In that moment her beauty sickened him. "I understand", was all he could say quietly._

_"Sev" Lilly whispered, placing a hand on his forearm. He looked at the hand on his arm, as if it were some strange object. "I'm sorry", he heard her say. Not looking at her, he walked away, Lilly's hand still hovering in the air._

* * *

><p>"Sir?" the voice drew him back to the present day. He cleared his throat, feeling nervous and dry mouthed.<p>

"There is a potion which I must make", he began, summoning up his courage. _You can face up to Voldermort, you can face up to a girl_ he chided himself. "It is very rare, and very old, and the great majority of the ingredients needed are not sold in your simple apothecary". He could see excitement glistening in Hermione's eyes. "I require you help, if you are so wishing to give it, to gather said ingredients. They are most difficult to find, and in some cases dangerous, however it is essential that they are gathered and I require some help in this task". Severus gulped, getting ready for the wash of disappointment which he knew would come. "Of course, I understand if..." he began to say before Hermione spoke.

"Yes", Hermione said, determined and firm.

"Yes?" Snape asked quietly, not daring to hope that he had hear right.

"Yes", she repeated again. "Of course".

Snape felt a smile creeping across his face and he turned his back to her to hide it.

"When do we leave Sir?", she asked from behind him.

The question caught Snape off guard, he had been almost certain that she would say no. "Whenever you are ready Miss Granger".

"Today?" she asked. This time Snape could not help it and his face broke into a full laughing smile.

"Yes. Today sounds good indeed".

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN**_

__Thank you so much to all the lovely reviews I have been getting, they really inspire me to keep writing! Things are going to get fun!


	21. Chapter 21

Snape walked around his classroom, taking steady but quick strides. Sighing he walked over to his desk, sitting down and cradling his fingers together underneath his chin, eyeing the closed door in front of him. Suddenly he stood up again, rapping his fingers against the hard wood of the desk, before setting off on another walk around the classroom.

Severus Snape actually felt _nervous_. His stomach was being twisted into strange knots and he could not seem able to stay in one place for any amount of time. He snorted to himself when he thought of what he had to endure on a regular basis: torturing from the Dark Lord and his fellow death eaters, the crippling depression of living a doomed life, the constant peril of living so close to the edge that at any moment he could be found out for what he truly was. But now? Now he was nervous at going on a 'trip' with one of his students.

The knot in his stomach tightened and Snape wondered whether it was right to have invited the girl. His brow grew furrowed as he frowned; perhaps it really was not the best of ideas. It had seemed like a good one this morning though. He could keep an eye on her well being and also gather the ingredients needed for the potion which might just prolong her life, giving perhaps enough time for Snape to discover the key to unlocking the curse. But then, Snape wondered, why did he know in his gut that his actions in inviting her along were not for the reasons which he kept repeating in his head? That the real reason he had invited her was-. No. He would not allow the thought to even enter his head again. He was her Professor, and she his student. His duty to protect her merely fell from his instincts as a teacher. _You're instincts tell you to blow up your students most of the time_ a dark thought replied in his head.

Before Snape had a chance to play his own dangerous mind games, the classroom door swung open and in hurried Hermione Granger. Her hair was twisted into braids and a flush had settled on her cheeks. Snape could not help but wonder whether she had actually ran to her dorm room to pack.

"I appreciate that knocking on the door is a terribly hard task, Miss Granger, however I though a witch of your calibre would have been able to manage it?", Snape drawled, sounding almost overly nonchalant.

Hermione blushed at the comment, wondering whether to be insulted or complemented. "Sorry Professor", she mumbled.

Snape's eyes did a quick glance over her body. She had on a pair of sensible black boots that Snape was relieved about. God forbid if she had come to him in whatever silly contraptions women worse on their feet nowadays. His eyes continued to take in her stonewashed jeans and large red duffel coat that stood out sharply from her white skin. Snape was surprised to hear himself think that it actually complemented her. She looked astounding beautiful. _Stop it_ he chided himself, clearing his throat and asking Hermione where her bag was.

Hermione patted her coat pocket, a satisfied look creeping over her features. "In here Sir", she said, "undetectable extension charm. Of course, I wasn't sure of the duration of this excursion however I believe that I have all I will need."

Snape was impressed but tried to hide it from her. The charm, whilst easy to accomplish a relatively simple expansion in practice, was hard to get perfectly right, especially with the weight of the items being carried absorbed into the spell. Hermione watched him look at her strangely and frowned a little sheepishly. "With Harry, you can never be sure when you'll have to be on the move quickly. I practiced the charm a lot so that wherever I was I would always have at least something packed and ready to go", she explained.

Snape was surprised at the amount of thought which had gone into so small a task as packing a bag. But something as small as that could be what made all the difference. Perhaps with Granger at his side, Potter _could_ actually manage to defeat the Dark Lord. Perhaps. He nodded curtly. "Very well Miss Granger, please follow me. And keep up", he said, turning to the door, a traveling robe thrown over his arm.

"Where are we going Sir?", asked Hermione, jumping up from the desk she'd been leaning on.

"I'm sure you very well know that one cannot apparate from Hogwart's grounds", he eyed her, raising one black eyebrow.

Hermione blushed. Of course she had known that. She couldn't believe she had already made a fool out of herself and they hadn't even stepped a foot outside the dungeon's yet. "Yes Sir, of course", she said bashfully.

Snape said nothing more but cocked his head towards the door, beckoning her to follow him. She did so, feeling a flutter in her stomach when he held open to the door so that she could pass. Snape warded the classroom and the pair set off down the dungeon corridor.

* * *

><p>Hermione found herself almost jogging to keep up with Snape's long strides as they moved in silence away from the castle, Snape leading them to the forbidden forest. Hermione shivered when she thought of the strange beings that lurked in the darkness and could not help but think back to the memories that she had had in there: Harry finding Professor Quirrell drinking unicorn blood on a dark winter's night, luring the ghastly Umbridge in to trick her. Even the spiders which she pictured vividly from Harry and Ron's recollections filled her head. All were bad.<p>

But somehow, she knew instinctively that she would be safe with Professor Snape, who continued to walk without so much as glancing at her. Hermione had wondered at his motivations for taking her with him. Although she no longer perceived him as the cold-hearted man who stood before her in class, she had come to realise that his patience wore thin very easily, even at the best of times. Hermione's belly kicked up a flesh bout of butterflies as she thought about him taking her to spend time with her. Alone. She knew that it was a stupid idea, and it make her feel girlish and pre-pubescent to even entertain the it. Snape had never shown any interest in her, not as a student, a confidant, a friend. Nothing. But surely he could not hate her as much as it appeared in class, after all, he had taken care of her on numerous occasions now and also trusted her to help him collect these rare ingredients.

Hermione's feet had hit the cold soil of the forbidden forest and a branch immediately caught on her coat, but she brushed it away, determined to keep up with her Professor who seemed to breeze through the spiky trees and brambles as though they were nothing but daisies. On more than one occasion, Hermione's foot had come into contact with a snaking tree route hidden under the remnants of snow, stumbling but not falling, but still Snape did not slow, moving effortlessly along the forest obstacle course.

Finally they reached a small clearing, stepping over a thick layer of bracken to stand in its centre. Hermione was not sure how deep into the forest they were, but the trees here seemed not quite so thick and daunting and she realised for the first time that the cold grey winter sun was actually managing to find its way onto her skin, so used was she to entering the forest at night.

"Take my arm, Miss Granger", said Snape, turning to face her and holding out his arm as if to escort her to a dinner dance. Hermione stiffened slightly at the thought of being in such close proximity to the man, literally, of her dreams, but she shook it off and took hold of his elbow.

"Have you ever apparated before?" he asked her.

"I have begun the Ministry lessons," she answered, "but I have not apparated more than a couple of feet".

"This may feel..._unpleasant_ then", he said.

Hermione opened her mouth to ask him where they would be apparating to, but felt the air being sucked clean from her lungs and her body contorted into an impossibly small space. There was no time to feel any real discomfort though as as soon as it had started, it was gone. Hermione landed unsteadily on her feet but felt a hand grasp around her arm keeping her steady. She blinked and looked around her.

They were standing on a snow-covered field at the top of a large valley. Hills rolled majestically in peaks and toughs and Hermione gasped as she saw a sparking lake at the centre, glinting in the weak morning sun. Deep crevices of worn brown rock sat in jagged patters around the base of the valley, snow melting and running in small streams down the cliff faces. Snape eyed Hermione briefly before taking his hand away and moving forward, pulling out his wand and muttering incantations under his breath, too low to be heard, which started to melt away the snow from where he stood, revealing a surprisingly thick green layer of grass.

"Where are we?" Hermione murmured, more to herself than to Snape, "it's beautiful".

Snape straightened from where his wand was pointed at the ground, clearing away the snow. He too looked down into the base of the valley, as if he had not yet taken stock of his surroundings.

"We're in Wales. Snowdonia to be exact", he said, his gaze traveling along the sun beaten cliff faces and the soft undulating hills, until it came to rest on Hermione who still stood looking out over the valley, her eyes wide. "Very beautiful". He feared his gaze had rested too long on her and he turned hurriedly to finish clearing the ground.

Hermione turned to watch Snape as he did so, watching as the crisp white snow merely melted away, leaving the grass underneath fresh and glistening in dew drops.

"Do you need help Sir?", she asked, although unsure of the spell he was using.

"That will not be necessary. The tent is ready to be set now" Snape said.

"Tent?" Hermione blurted out. She had not even thought about their sleeping arrangements. She felt flustered suddenly and hoped her teacher would not see the blood rising to her cheeks.

A mischievous smile spread across Snape's face. "Undetectable extension charm, Miss Granger" he said softly as he patted a pocket in his robes. Hermione realised that he was making fun of her and smiled sheepishly, watching as he pulled out a small green package from the pocket. He placed it in the centre of the newly cleared ground and pointed his wand at the strange object. "_Engorgio_".

Immediately the package began to expand, folding out from itself, until there sat a full formed tent. Hermione walked forward and peered through the entrance. A camping bed stood against one side whilst on the other there was a small table. It seemed well worn, but tidy and clean.

Hermione stepped backwards into the open again and turned to Snape. "There's no kitchen".

"I prefer to prepare meals outside, it helps to clear the mind".

"This tent is yours?" Hermione exclaimed, not able to help the surprise that showed on her face.

"Yes Miss Granger", Snape said resolutely, and even though Hermione was dying to ask more questions about his outdoor excursions she sensed the finality of his statement and quelled her questioning.

Snape watched the same expression pass over her features as it did in his classroom when she was not chosen on to answer on a question: the desire that lit up in her eyes, followed by her silent determination to force it back down. He realised that it might come as a shock to the girl that he did not merely live in his dungeon rooms for _all _of the time, but how could he tell her that this very tent was the same one he had used when he left Hogwarts to join the Death Eaters, with no home to go back to and no money to stay anywhere else? How could he tell her that the bed she would sleep on was the same one on which he had once carefully lain out his new Death Eater robes and mask, surveying them with pride befitting a father seeing his newborn baby for the first time.

"So what are these ingredients that need to be collected Sir? What potion are you planning on making with them?" Hermione asked, snapping him out of his reverie.

"A special request has come from a friend of the Headmaster's, from the Netherlands I do believe. He had been cursed by a strong enchantment and I have been entrusted to brew the potion to counter its side effects", Snape lied, the fiction rolling off his tongue with ease. He would tell her, in time. But not now, no. For now she needed to be protected from the truth.

"I see", Hermione said "and what is the first ingredient that must be collected?"

"_Biguonia Radicans_. A flower".

Hermione nodded slowly. "I've never heard of it Sir".

"One cannot know everything", Snape snapped, but quickly softened his expression. "It is native to the banks of only three lakes in this world, and this -" he gestured towards the glassy expanse of water below them, "- is one of them".

From under her eyelids Hermione took a sideways glimpse at her potions master, seeing his gaze facing away from her. The angry snarl that was usually painted on his face in his classroom had washed away to reveal an almost peaceful expression. Hermione was shocked to see how much younger he looked in the bright winter sun. She decided to dare her luck and ask him more, bracing herself for the 'stop-trying-to-be-such-a-know-it-all' insult that was surely going to come her way.

"Why is it so rare Sir?"

Snape kicked at the ground in front of him with a booted foot and thrust his hands into his pockets. "This particular lake has two underground river sources, one at the south end, one at the north. Each carries with it different marine life and in particular, two types of rare amphibious creature, the _Arcus Pluvius Piscis_ from the Baltic Sea, and the _Flavus Oculis Anguilla_, from the Gulf of Kara ".

Hermione listened with awe to his private lecture, his rich voice washing over her in waves.

"When these two mate, their young live for approximately three seconds, although for them, this is as good as a lifetime. Some minds are even of the opinion that these three seconds hold the key to the universe. Then when they die, their bodies crystallise and disintegrate into minerals which eventually enter the surrounding soil, causing these rare flowers to bloom".

Hermione was silent, but moved closer to stand at Snape's side, lowering her self to the ground and wrapping her arms around her knees, drawing them closer to her chest. Snape's eyes turned to look at her, and with a flick of his wrist the ground beneath them was cleared of the last remnants of snow. To Hermione's great surprise, he lowered himself to the ground next to her, both of them surveying the scenery.

The silence prolonged for a short while, but it was comfortable. Somewhere in the distance a river trickled quietly and Hermione thought about the strange rare fish in the deep depths of the lake, both so unique, both from such different places, worlds apart even, but drawn together to create something utterly beautiful.

"So what do you think?" she asked him finally.

Snape twisted to look at her, his forehead creasing. "Think about what Miss Granger?" he questioned.

"Do you believe that those three seconds hold the key to the universe?"

A small smile touched the corners of Snape's mouth.

"Codswollop, is what I say Miss Granger"

* * *

><p>Hermione sat on the old cot, which was surprisingly comfy, her shoeless feet drawn up underneath her and her back rested against the wall of the tent. In her hands she held a small blue leather-bound book, silver clasps encasing its spine.<p>

It had begun to snow outside, but inside the tent was warm. Snape was nowhere to be seen. He had informed Hermione that he had an errand to run, and that it would be of the utmost importance for her to remain inside, but that had been three hours ago and she had not seen him since.

She flicked through the pages of the book but found herself too distracted to read, and with a sigh she let it fall shut. The same image kept presenting itself to her in her mind: that of Snape, his face to the sun, his shoulders straight and his back tall. He had looked content in that moment and to Hermione it was like he had finally put down the globe that he had been carrying on his back and straightened up to face a new day.

Setting aside the book from her lap she traced her fingers down her arm, remembering where Snape's hand had held her steady in the moments after they had landed. In truth, it had been for little over a second, but to Hermione, it was as if his fingers had lavishingly caressed her and drawn her closer to him.

_Snape looked out at the surrounding scene, the hills, the lake, the white wonderland. Sunlight basked his face in light, and glinted off his black hair, turning it deep shades of brown and blue. The words that came from his mouth were as rich as old whisky, his voice dancing to Hermione's ears. She listened intently to his lecture, goosebumps rising on her flesh._

_When he finished there was silence and she walked forward to where he stood, only centimetres from him side. She turned her eyes up expectantly at him, and he in turn looked down at her. Gently, he rang a long finger down her arm, stopping as he reached her hand and pulled it to his waist. A hand brushed away a stray hair from her face and curled it behind her ear. Her lips parted slightly._

_"Kiss me", she said, bringing both hands to his hips and pulling him in closer. He looked at her for a moment longer, his eyes like the darkest depths of the universe, before closing the gap and pressing his lips firmly down on hers. His arms twisted around her back and pulled her closer to him, passionately. Hermione felt herself groan as her hands found their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath._

_The small noise seemed to spur Snape on and his fingers moved to the nape of her neck, twisting into her hair and bringing down his kiss even harder on her. The noise escaped Hermione again as she wrapped her leg around his, gasping when she felt a bolt of electricity pass along her body from between her legs as it rubbed against his thigh._

_With a fire Snape wrapped his arm around her buttocks, lifting her up completely so that her legs wrapped around his torso. Her fingers were in his hair, dragging through it zealously, and -_

Hermione's eyes shot open at the sound of Snape walking in through the tent door, small flakes of snow melting from his robes and hair, dusk just present through the gap in the door. Hermione coughed, embarrassed and refused to meet his eyes.

"Professor Snape, you're back", she said timidly.

Snape looked at her with bemusement, not failing to notice the blush that had crept across her cheeks.

"Yes, Miss Granger", he said, but made no advancement on where he had been.

He walked forward and shrugged off his heavy robes, placing them on the back of the chair. Hermione looked up at him with confusing. "Are we not going to collect the flower?", she asked him.

"The snow is falling much too heavily and the ground has become quickly covered. We would risk inadvertently stepping on one if we were to venture out now", he explained.

"Oh".

A sad expression settled on Snape's features. "I understand you are keen to have completed this gathering exercise as soon as possible, however I'm afraid that right now there is nothing that I am able to do to speed up the process". It was almost not noticeable, but his head hung slightly lower.

"Oh that's not it at all Sir!", Hermione exclaimed, with almost a little too much force. "In truth, I was looking forward to learning more about the flower, it sounds frightfully interesting. In fact -", she picked up the book from her side and wrapped her knuckle against its cover, "I had a look in my advanced potions text, but there was not one single thing mention of it in here".

It might have been something that Snape would have normally berated her for, her unquenchable thirst for knowledge, but he suddenly felt awash with happiness. She did not want to go. She was not repulsed by his company. He tried to hide his smile.

"There would be no reference to them in there I can assure you", he said, "as I have said they are extremely rare, and even an advanced text book would only include the most general of ingredients." Hermione nodded, looking slightly crestfallen at the idea that a book could not be of any use to her in that particular instance. "But, I could, um, tell you some more about them if you'd like?", he asked her, watching her expression light up her face with joy.

"Really? That would brilliant!" she blurted out.

Snape could not hide the smile from his face this time, but sank down into the chair across from Hermione and crossed his legs over one another. Hermione mirrored his movements, drawing her legs closer to her and leaning in expectantly, the silent desire burning in her eyes again.

"So...what do you want to know?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN**_

Hey guys, I really hope you like this chapter, I had lots of fun writing it :)

A couple of things maybe worth mentioning. I set this chapter in Wales, which is actually where I'm from myself. Although Snowdonia is North Wales, and I'm from the South!

The flower that was mentioned is actually a real flower. In English, it actually means 'Ash-leaved Trumpet-flower'. I chose it because I thought it sounded like a cool name, but I thought that it was a nice little coincidence when the meaning of the flower is actually 'separation' (because I suppose the potion will separate Hermione from the curse). The fishes names I made up though, they're actually latin for 'Rainbow Fish' and 'Yellow Eyed Eel'.

Anyway, like I said I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. If you did, please review! I love to hear from you guys, and even just a couple of words makes me tremendously happy!

Until the next chapter...

C


	22. Chapter 22

Severus Snape sighed heavily and rolled over onto his back, his black eyes searching out the roof of the tent. He clasped his hands together over his chest and squeezed shut his eyes, trying to force sleep upon himself, but it was no use. The cold from the ground seeped through the thin roll-matt on which he lay, and his back ached from the hard and unyielding surface. He drummed his fingers impatiently against his chest before sitting up and running his long fingers through his hair.

Turning to his left, he could make out the figure of the young girl lying on the old camp bed next to him. Her back was turned to him but he watched as her shadow rose and fell with each deep breath she took as she slept soundly. Snape listened to this breath over the whistle of the wind as it battered around the tent, and the creak of the trees just outside, and he drew comfort from it. He found it...comforting, a strange notion to the normally reclusive man.

Quietly, Snape rose from his uncomfortable sleeping position, slipped on his boots and pulled open the flap of the tent, ducking outside to meet the crisp snow that was lazily drifting down from the grey clouds overhead. It was cold and he pulled his cloak tightly around himself and watched for a short while as the white flakes landed on the black material, finding a sort of fascination in the stark contrast which diminished with a gentle sigh as the snowflake melted against him.

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><p><em>Severus ignored the goodbye of the server girl and the gentle chime of the shops bell, his attention transfixed on his recently purchased book. Stepping out into the snow covered street he continued to ignore the bustle as witches pushed past him with their large cauldrons full of random supplies, of children who darted through the crowd on invisible broomsticks, and from the loud cries of delight as a new snowfall was kicked and tossed by children and adults alike. No, this was a special moment. Too special to waste on the frivolities of a new snow fall.<em>

_All of his life Severus had loved books. The knowledge contained in just one astounded him, let alone being surrounded by countless theories and ideas from men who he could only dream to aspire to. He loved the way that they looked, stacked together in a haphazard fashion, crammed into whatever space was left, or organised in need rows like regimented soldiers. He loved their smell of old parchment and dried ink and weathered leather. He loved the feel of them as he ran his finger down the spine of each and every one and felt a shiver of anticipation at exploring what hidden truths laid inside._

_But Severus had never owned a book before he came to Hogwarts. In fact, the only book that had been in his house was the 'Holy Bible'. It had been bound in blue leather, with a golden metal cross fixed to its cover. Severus remembered it well. The irony of its preachings, compared to the mark the metal cross left on skin as his father used it as a weapon against him and his mother. He still had a small white scar just above his hairline to prove it._

_At Hogwarts, his passion had grown, and he had relished long hours in the library, pulling down countless books that he could never even hope to read in one sitting, but not being able to choose between one. They were like his friends and he surrounded himself with them._

_But this, this was something special. Severus's long hands gripped his new book ferociously and his knuckles were white. No body has opened this book ever before, he though to himself. Nobody but me. The crackle of the unturned page was like a rush for Severus and he ducked into a dark alleyway to relinquish the moment as he narrowly avoided being hit with a passing snowball._

_He did not know how long he stayed there, time passed by so quickly. His long body lent against a cold wall, and his fingers felt frozen solid, but Severus did not care. For the first time in his life he was holding something that was truly his, and which he truly savoured. It was only when a voice floated to him in the wind did he lift up his head and stop reading. It was hers._

_They had not spoken since he had asked her out to the school ball and he had vowed to himself never speak to her again, but the sound of her voice was like honey, like a clear note on a harp, and Snape could not help himself but to lower his book and edge around the corner to catch a glimpse of her._

_"I'll see you later!", Lilly called out, raising a gloved hand above her head to wave goodbye to a group of friends._

_"Common' Lil!", they yelled back, "just get it later, come back with us!". Lilly laughed and made a shooing motion with her hands._

_"I can't, I have to get a new one now, seeing as you blew my last one up!", she shouted, laughing again to her friends. Severus could only see the backs of their heads but he knew well enough that it was the loathsome Griffindors that she now hung around with and he shuddered with disgust at the thought._

_Still watching, a figure stepped away from the group and made its way towards Lilly. James Potter grasped her in a tight hug and planted a kiss on her forehead. Lilly giggled and tried to push him away but he held her tighter and lifted her off the floor. Lilly laughed again, struggling away from his grasp but finally giving him a delicate peck on the lips. James put her down, tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear and rejoined the group of friends who were now starting to walk away. She smiled again and turned to walked into Flourish & Blotts._

_Severus thought that he might be sick. It was as if someone was crushing his windpipe and he couldn't breath. The pain was almost unbearable and he turned and laid his forehead against the rough brick wall. His fist was clenched tightly and he resisted the urge to punch said wall. His breathing was ragged, but he told himself that he did not care. He would no longer care about anyone if this was what it felt like, like somebody ripping out his heart and leaving him empty._

_I don't care about her._

_I don't care about anyone._

* * *

><p>Snape shivered and wrapped his cloak more tightly around him. He remembered the feeling like a distant echo or a faint shadow. The memory of the hurt had consumed him, long after he had stopped feeling it on his chest anymore and he had vowed that he could never, <em>would<em> never, care for anyone ever again. And he had kept that vow.

Until now.

How could he not care about her? About Hermione? He could no longer deny it, that he felt something for the girl. Yes, she is your student but she is no longer the bushy haired eleven year old who demanded your attention, he told himself. She is a beautiful young woman, soon to graduate from school and start her own life. No longer a student, no longer _his_ student, but simply a young adult free to make her own choices.

Snape kicked at the ground below his feet, clearing away snow with his boot to reveal the grass underneath. She had looked at him earlier with a look that he had never seen on her. Almost embarrassment and shame, but one that still looked glad to see him. He could see it not just in her face, but in the way her body had relaxed as she saw him. But what did it mean? Did it mean anything?

Snape shook his head and mentally chided himself. _She is a seventeen year old girl who you left alone in a strange place, with no word of where you were going. She was probably just scared_. But he could not help it when a small part of his brain answered back. _This is Hermione Granger, not some pre-pubescent little girl who is scared of the dark. This is the brains of the Golden Trio, her, scared? I hardly think so_. "Argh!" Snape yelled, and sent a puff of snow flying with another kick of his boot.

"Professor?"

Snape froze. Despite the wind, he could still make out her quiet voice coming from inside the tent. Shaking his head and trying to clear his mind he ducked back in, performing a quick drying spell on his robes and hair.

With a flick of his wand a small light flared in an old camping lantern, casting a homely glow around. Turning to face Hermione he expected to see her sitting up in bed, that annoying but endearing questioning look plastered onto her face, but instead Snape found himself facing a still sleeping girl. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and measured. She now faced him, and a hand hung limply over the side of the bed.

Had he mistaken her call for him? Perhaps it had just been the wind.

He turned back to extinguish the lantern when the small voice again came from behind him and made him spin around.

"Professor Snape".

He eyed her curiously. Was she...sleep talking? Snape frowned and tried to diminish the ever growing thought in his head that she must be dreaming about him. He eased off his boots and cloak and slowly sank back down to the floor. With a small motion he extinguished the lamp, eventually drifting off to sleep whilst waiting for her to say his name once more.

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><p><strong><em>AN_**

**__**I would like to apologise to a few reviewers who quite rightly pointed out that the rating of this story was incorrect. When I first started writing this it was aimed at being a one-shot which was supposed to be set between a young Hermione and Snape, however it has matured into a more M rated fiction which I did not get round to changing. I am sorry for anyone that this might have offended and the problem has now been rectified.

On a happier note, I hope you all like this chapter :) I'm sorry it's short and for the long delay but hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway!

C


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